The Gates of Azkaban
by mirrormarie
Summary: On the verge of joining the Death Eaters, Severus has a conversation that changes his mind, with consequences that change his entire world. But his isn't the only world affected...
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story can work as a standalone, but for those who read my story "The Cactus and the Toad," this is a sequel, although that won't become apparent for a few chapters. Mild trigger warning for the first chapter: the Death Eaters have a fairly nasty conversation, although nothing graphic.

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1

Severus had expected the pub to be crowded, but the angry, excited roar that blasted over him as he opened the door made him curl his lip in distaste. He paused for a moment, purposefully allowing the crisp autumn air to waft into the sweaty, smoky, sour-smelling room and smirking as the nearest patrons shivered.

"Close the door, would ya?" one of them yelped.

Severus shut it slowly, and rather reluctantly. He had spotted his party in the far corner, but he was in no particular hurry to join them. After this morning's headlines, he knew the talk wouldn't be of the war, but of this wretched law. He had spent the entire day trying to avoid thinking about it, yet the nervous twist in his stomach had simply coiled itself tighter around his guts. He usually ordered a firewhiskey at the bar before these meetings, but vomiting all over Lucius Malfoy seemed a poor way to earn the Dark Lord's approval, so he carefully picked his way around the rambunctious tables to his own more subdued group.

Suggestive jokes, outraged complaints, and several shouted synonyms of human genitalia filled the air like slime exploding from an ill-brewed potion, and Severus's sneer was firmly in place by the time he sat down.

Avery, damn him, had the _Daily Prophet_ out, its appalling headline turned toward him:

 _ **WIZENGAMOT ENACTS MARRIAGE LAW**_

 _Death Eater Death Toll Prompts Drastic Legislation to Compensate for Population Loss_

Severus scowled, not bothering to read further. He had as good as memorized the article this morning, when, in a haze of stupefaction and horror, he had reread it roughly fifty times.

"Why didn't we know about this?" he asked.

Lucius reclined as much as was possible in his uncomfortable pub chair. Lucius hated meeting here; Knockturn Alley might enjoy his patronage during daylight hours, but its evening swarm of lowlifes had the elegant young man's face tense with disdain, and Severus could hardly blame him. He had no doubt that his own father had spent his last night on earth at an equivalent establishment in the Muggle world.

However, at Severus's question, he offered a supercilious smirk and said, "Oh, but we did."

Severus eyed him expressionlessly, though inwardly he recoiled. Surely Lucius was not suggesting…?

"The Dark Lord fully supports this law," Lucius continued. "Perhaps you noticed, among the Wizengamot's stipulations, the requirement that marriages must occur among wizards and witches?"

"Yes," Severus said slowly. He was beginning to understand.

"Intermarriage with Muggles will no longer be allowed," Lucius said smugly. "The Wizengamot insisted that marriage to Muggleborns be permitted - the pool of potential parents would be too small, otherwise - but within a few generations, all magical blood will have escaped the immediate taint of Muggle blood."

Severus said nothing. He knew, better than anyone at this table, what intermarriage with Muggles could cost the wizards and witches involved. Though the "purity" of blood, in the sense Lucius meant, was of less concern to him, the social consequences of mingling with Muggles were another matter. He knew exactly how dangerous Muggles could be. Even in their stupidity, they could find a brutal outlet for their ignorance. And with all the Muggle-loving laws wizards like Dumbledore were proposing, soon enough wizards would lose any right whatsoever to defend themselves.

Still… "Were _all_ the stipulations of the law necessary? Surely the law could have simply applied to voluntary marriages."

Lucius shook his head, still smug. "Not at all, Severus. The Wizengamot would never have accepted such a measure. Dumbledore," he sneered the name, "would have called it prejudice, and it would have died without going to a vote. But by masking the true intent of the law behind a crisis -"

"- you have ensured that we will _all_ have to marry," Severus said coldly. It was rare that he dared speak up against Lucius, who was their only liaison with the Dark Lord until such time as they were permitted to join him. Avery and Mulciber, who, like Severus, hoped to join the Death Eaters, eyed him with a mixture of alarm and admiration as he scowled at Lucius.

Lucius, however, merely smiled. "If you are concerned that you will not be able to find a wife, Severus, I assure you, the Dark Lord will provide. The law will not force you to marry until one month after your nineteenth birthday, which I believe is three months from now. Four months is more than enough time for you to prove yourself worthy of the Dark Lord's beneficence."

Severus seethed. Under other circumstances, he would have swelled with pride at the suggestion that in mere months he could meet - and serve - the Dark Lord. Yet at the moment he doubted he could have shown the Dark Lord anything but the same contempt he was narrowly avoiding showering on Lucius.

Struggling to control himself, he said, "Then it is of no concern to you that the entire country will be miserable for the duration of this law?"

Lucius smiled even wider. "Severus," he said softly, "I am disappointed in you. Usually you are a better tactician than this. Of _course_ it is of concern to us that the country will be miserable. The more miserable, the better."

Severus stared at him, processing this, then said, "You want them to be angry. You hope to direct their anger at Muggles, rather than at the Ministry."

"Preferably," Lucius said, "we will direct their anger at both. We will show them what our world has come to. Because of Muggles and this pathetic Statute of Secrecy, our population has declined. We have lost all ambition, all greatness. We have dwindled into a pitiful, timid race that would rather use magic to sweep floors and wash dishes than to make empires rise and fall. In short, we have become little better than Muggles - all because we have been forced to hide ourselves from them and _their_ prejudice and brutality."

"And the Dark Lord," Severus said, "can change all that."

"Yes," Lucius said. "And we will be there when he rises to full power. We will help him on his way to greatness… and wizards will be great again."

Severus considered this. He could not deny that it was a devious (and therefore impressive) plan. But the personal consequences for him, for everyone, were horrendous.

Lucius, watching his face, murmured, "Severus, you have nothing to fear. The Dark Lord recognizes the hardship this will present to some of his servants. If you prove yourself to him, he will provide you with an appropriate wife."

An appropriate wife. Severus's lip curled at the thought. There was only one witch he wanted, and Potter had probably proposed to her within five minutes of reading the morning's _Prophet._

There was no doubt in his mind that she would have accepted.

Mulciber, who was far sharper than Avery and knew him better than Lucius, said with a smirk, "Maybe the Dark Lord can get you that redhead you used to fancy."

Severus shot him a warning look, but it was too late.

"Redhead?" Lucius echoed. "You don't mean the Evans girl? The one you hung around in your first year?"

"Not just his first year," Mulciber sniggered. "They were friends till, what, fourth year? Fifth? Till Snape finally realized she's a filthy little Mudblood who's not worthy to lick his boots. Though he probably wouldn't mind if she licked something else."

Severus's jaw clenched with fury, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Evans," Lucius mused. "She's with James Potter now, isn't she?"

Mulciber sneered. "Filthy slut."

Severus tried to keep himself under control, but he knew his face must have changed color, because Lucius arched his brows with great curiosity.

"Evans," he echoed. "I'm sure that could be arranged. Potter has openly pledged himself to Dumbledore. He could be disposed of."

Severus felt a cold thrill, of fear or anticipation, even he couldn't tell. The idea of Potter gone, dead… And yet, the fact that Lucius could discuss it so calmly…

And Lily… Lily would hate him for all eternity. Even more than she did now.

"I doubt," he sneered, "whether she would thank me for getting her boyfriend killed."

He realized, too late, how much he had just admitted. Lucius, Mulciber, and even Avery were all eyeing him with varying degrees of smugness and surprise.

"So," Lucius said quietly, "you _do_ want her."

Severus shrugged, trying to brush it off, but Lucius leaned in closer. "It _could_ be arranged, Severus. The Dark Lord is not unaware of Evans' potential. I believe he has considered recruiting her."

Severus felt another cold thrill, and this time he knew it was fear. Lily would never accept the Dark Lord's offer. And if she openly defied him, as Potter had…

"She might resist you," Lucius added, "at first. She would mourn her boyfriend, I daresay. But the stipulations of the law are clear. In time, she would come to accept you. And if not…"

Severus didn't meet his eyes. He didn't dare consider how Lucius might finish that sentence. _The stipulations of the law are clear…_ Yes, they were very clear. All wizards and witches between nineteen and forty years of age were required to find a magical spouse within one month of the implementation of the law. Any witch or wizard who reached his or her nineteenth birthday after the law came into effect would have one month in which to marry. And after the wedding…

He cringed at the quote from the article, which had been burned into his brain that morning: _"Copulation will occur once per week every week until a child is conceived."_

And Lucius thought Lily would accept that? She would sooner throw herself from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

And he would sooner throw himself from the top of the Astronomy Tower than hurt her.

"Evans is not an option," he said, wishing he had bought the whiskey after all.

"You underestimate the Dark Lord," Lucius replied. "If this is truly what you want, then he could give her to you."

 _Give her to you._ As if she were an object, to be handed out at will. Did Lucius really think so little of him, to imagine he would want that?

But then, _didn't_ Lucius think that? Hadn't he said the Dark Lord would provide him with a wife? Severus doubted any other witch would be any more willing to have him than Lily. And Lucius had implied there were other Death Eaters in the same position. Did the Dark Lord simply intend to abduct whichever women they wanted?

Severus allowed the implications of that to burn through him.

He had made many compromises, during the past few months since graduation, when it came to his principles. Even at school, he had learned to consider the Dark Lord's more violent (and, Severus privately thought, _Muggle_ ) tactics as necessary. Naturally, the world they wished to build could not be achieved through peaceful resistance or protest. Without force, nothing would change. He had accepted that, as he had accepted the demeaning little tasks Lucius had delegated to him, the blackmail and thievery and vandalism, because he knew they were necessary, as he knew that one day the Dark Lord would recognize his more impressive talents, and assign him tasks that brought him only honor.

But this? There was no tactical necessity here. The wording of the law could have been changed. _Copulation -_ he still cringed at the term - might not have been required.

And to force witches into it…

He gave Lucius a sideways look, hoping he had misunderstood the man's intent. Could it be possible, he wondered, that Lucius simply did not grasp the extent to which Lily (or any other witch) would despise him? Narcissa had been resistant to Lucius's advances at first, but only, Severus knew, because she was coquettish. She had been more than willing to accept him when his proposal finally came.

 _Just like Lily, with Potter,_ came the involuntary thought. But that was unfair. Lily was not coquettish. Severus was certain that she really had tried to resist her feelings for Potter - at least until Severus had called her a Mudblood. After that, any hesitation she might have felt out of loyalty to him had vanished.

But no matter what, she would not have wanted _him._ If it hadn't been Potter, it would have been some other wizard. Severus was not delusional enough to believe Lily harbored any secret attraction to him. Why would she? He had never been anything but a poor, weak, shabby little boy with nothing to offer her but his love. Lily wanted more than love. He knew she wanted a home, a family, children, a position in society that would place her forever above the accusations that she, as a Muggleborn, did not belong. Potter, he knew all too well, could offer her all of that. Severus could not. He barely made enough money at the apothecary to feed himself, his only reputation was that of a nasty little git who'd been stripped naked and humiliated in front of the entire school, and the idea of producing children, if he was honest with himself, was utterly repulsive to him. He hated children.

If it weren't for this worthless law, he might have had the time to change all of that. She might not have felt the need to marry Potter at once, and Severus might have risen in the world, made a place for himself, not as the pampered heir of a wealthy pureblood family, but as an intellectual, or even as a revolutionary if the Dark Lord's plans succeeded. It would not have been Potter, but Severus, who had a high place in the world. And he could have given her everything. Even, if she insisted on it, children.

But now that was all gone. She would marry Potter, and that would be the end of it.

"Evans is not an option," he said again, flatly.

Mulciber snorted. "Didn't expect you to give up so easy, Snape. Bit of a fight might make it fun."

Severus glared at him. He hoped Mulciber meant a fight with Potter, and not…

"Evans is a bitch. It would serve her right."

Severus roiled with anger. Very quietly, he asked, " _What_ would serve her right, exactly?"

Mulciber knew that tone, but he grinned, perhaps assuming Severus would control himself in front of Lucius. "Er - what was the term - _copulation?_ " He sniggered again.

Severus felt like something had fallen away from him, perhaps the floor. He might have launched himself at Mulciber, if he hadn't been frozen in place, too shocked to do anything.

Vividly, he remembered what Lily had once said about the wizard in front of him: "Mulciber's and Avery's idea of humor is just evil. _Evil,_ Sev." He had barely been listening at the time, but now…

Lucius was eyeing Mulciber with mild distaste, but he said, "Evans would learn her place eventually, Severus. There would be no need for a… _fight._ There are methods of ensuring compliance… The Imperius Curse is most effective -"

"Or a love potion," Avery suggested, smirking. "Slughorn did say yours was the best in the class -"

Severus, whose body now felt so frozen in place he doubted he'd ever move again, remembered Slughorn's words just as vividly as Lily's.

"Perfect! Exquisite! And that mother-of-pearl sheen - don't think I've ever seen a finer!"

Of course he hadn't. Severus had added a few drops of strawberry juice to get it that fine, deviating from the useless textbook as he usually did.

"But I'd be careful, m'boy! Love potions are tempting, very tempting, especially for the less - ah - _prepossessing_ among us!" He had boomed with laughter and clapped Severus on the shoulder as the rest of the class laughed. "But the real thing's better, I promise you!"

Severus had boiled with rage and mortification, watching Lily turn away in distaste, listening to Potter roar with laughter while Black, grinning, had said loud enough for everyone to hear, "But Snivellus'll never get the real thing, will he? I bet even if he paid someone -"

Severus wrenched himself out of the memory. It was not Potter and Black, but Avery and Mulciber who were laughing about it now.

But unlike Potter and Black, they were entirely serious. Severus could see the edge in Mulciber's eyes, the anticipation in Avery's. Even Lucius, who looked bored with the conversation, seemed more offended by their amusement than by their actual suggestions.

For the first time, he understood exactly why Lily had detested them all.

He had never seen it before. The Dark Arts were not repulsive, they were fascinating, intoxicating, empowering and challenging in equal measure. Lily's distaste for them had always baffled him. And he had assumed that her distaste for Mulciber and Avery was founded in the same baffling attitude.

He was beginning to suspect that that was not the case.

Could he really have been so blind? Were the Death Eaters really no more than - than - _evil?_ No more than his father, abusing women and children? No more than the despicable Muggle criminals he had seen on his father's television, in the news reports that left him full of disgust and horror for the world that was clearly so inferior to his own?

And Lucius - he had admired Lucius. Perhaps not for his daintiness, but certainly for his elegance and sophistication, so dramatically opposed to his father's crude, uneducated lowness. He had admired his power and wealth. He had admired his ruthlessness.

"Well?" Avery prompted him. "Which'll it be, Snape? Love potion or Imperius?"

Severus stared at him for several seconds, unable to answer. But these were dangerous people - Lucius especially. He needed to pull himself together. "I will consider all possibilities," he forced out, in a voice that despite his best efforts sounded strained. "As Lucius pointed out, I have time to decide."

"Do not take too much time," Lucius said, watching him closely. "The Dark Lord can offer you much, but only if you prove yourself to him first."

Severus nodded, scraping back his chair with unusual clumsiness and standing. "You will have my answer tomorrow," he said.

He was shaking as he turned away, and couldn't block out Mulciber's parting comment.

"How much d'you want to bet he's gone to kill Potter now?"

"Snape's not a killer," Avery replied.

"Not yet," Lucius said.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Severus Apparated back to Cokeworth, but he didn't Apparate home. He could see the dirty chimney of the mill above the rooftops to his left, and he could smell the stale refuse of the river that ran near Spinner's End, but he turned away from it all to look at the skeletal playground in front of him, its metal frames squeaking slightly in the cold and rainy breeze. The dim light of a flickering streetlamp was the only illumination, and its ragged orange glow gleamed like firelight on the puddles. Severus stared at the swing for a few moments, then dragged his gaze away and started down the street to his right, nervousness making his steps jerky.

The houses here were nicer than the stained brick rows of Spinner's End. The playground marked the dividing point between the two neighborhoods, a middle ground where both Severus and Lily had been allowed to play. He had always watched with jealousy as she had returned home along smoothly-paved streets, bordered on either side with trees and flowers, to her parents' house, surrounded on all sides by a colorful and dearly loved garden.

The streets were just as he remembered them, fragrant now with fallen leaves that almost drowned the lingering stench from the river. By the time he reached the Evans's house, the smell of rubbish had entirely dissipated, and only the scent of Mrs. Evans's wilting garden remained.

He had expected there to be wards, but there were none. He could have Apparated directly into the house and its inhabitants would have been none the wiser. Ordinarily he would have sneered at such carelessness, but here, for this house, he felt only a flood of fear.

He didn't allow himself to hesitate on the pavement outside. Sliding the catch on the garden gate, he strode up to the door and knocked.

Almost immediately, Lily answered.

Her face, which had been bright with anticipation, turned pale with shock. For several seconds, she seemed too surprised to say anything.

Severus opened his mouth, and that seemed to revive her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed.

Having the full force of her fury and loathing directed at him robbed him momentarily of words. He gaped at her like a complete imbecile.

"Is that James, dear?" Mrs. Evans called from inside. She stepped into the hallway behind Lily, caught sight of Severus, and stopped to stare. "What on earth is he doing here?"

Lily's face twisted in distaste. "I don't know. But I'm sure he'll be leaving at once."

"I need to talk to you," he managed, before she could slam the door in his face.

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"Please, Lily, you have to -"

"I don't _have_ to do anything!"

Severus flinched. Why could he never speak competently around her? No matter how much he had tried to refine himself, the second he saw her he always turned into the ill-mannered, tongue-tied little cretin he had been the day they met.

"Please!"

Something of his desperation must have finally gotten through to her. She looked taken aback.

He decided to take a gamble and said, "It's about the Death Eaters, Lily."

Her face twisted again. "Have they finally let you join them, then? You'll excuse me if I don't congratulate you."

"No," he said fiercely. "I haven't joined them, I'll never join them. Lily, _please._ "

He could see that he had finally said the right thing. She looked completely astonished.

"I - oh - fine." She gave him a doubtful look, but stepped back. "You had better be quick. We're expecting company."

As soon as he stepped inside, he understood why. A flowery banner had been strung across the doorway to the sitting room, proclaiming words that devastated, but did not surprise him: _Congratulations Lily and James!_

"An engagement party, I take it?" he said, trying to sound indifferent but sounding cold instead.

Lily stiffened. "That's none of your business. What do you want, Snape?"

That stung. He hadn't expected her to call him Sev, but Severus wouldn't have been too much to ask, would it?

He shoved his displeasure aside.

Mrs. Evans caught his eye, gave him a conflicted look - she had always pitied him, but he had no doubt she had heard all about the incident after the O.W.L.s - then left.

"Well?" Lily prompted.

Severus, now that he was standing in front of her, had no idea what to say. It didn't help that she had obviously tried to look her best for the party. Her fiery hair was caught up in a pretty braid like a crown, and her golden-hued dress shimmered from her neck to her knees, its shadows suggesting all kinds of curves. It had been months since he had seen her, but it felt like years. She was not the insecure little girl from the swing anymore. She was beautiful.

"The Death Eaters are behind the marriage law," he said, trying and failing to meet her green eyes.

"I know," she said impatiently.

"You know?"

She arched a haughty eyebrow at her, and he understood, with a flash of alarm. "You've joined the Order?"

Her lips thinned, but she didn't deny it.

"The Dark Lord has considered recruiting you -"

"He tried. I refused."

Severus stared at her.

"If that's all?" she said, frowning at him.

"They'll hurt you," he stammered. He didn't want to repeat what they had said, but he needed her to understand. "They told me -"

"They _told you?_ " Her eyes flashed. "You said you weren't one of them, Severus -"

He registered the use of his name, and stuttered, "I - I was thinking about it -"

She gave him an icy look. "I think you should leave."

"You don't understand," he said. "They were talking about - about killing Potter and -"

Fear flashed across her face.

"- and about - about - about _giving_ you to someone." He could feel his face burning, but it was done. He had warned her.

" _Giving_ me to someone?"

"To marry."

She stared at him with an expression of such horror he took a step toward her, involuntarily, wishing he could comfort her. She stepped swiftly back.

"Who?" she asked in a raw voice. "Who were they going to give me to?"

He felt his face burn hotter, and she asked with revulsion, " _You?_ "

He didn't answer. She seemed too disgusted by the prospect to speak.

With an effort, he said, "I knew you wouldn't want it -"

She made a scathing sound in her throat.

"- but they could still try it," he said, fear making him babble. "You're - you're very - that is - there could be others who - who would - who would want you."

She gave him a withering look. "Like _you_ want me?"

He tensed. They had never spoken of it before. He knew she must have known, but for her to say it - like that -

He wondered if it was too late to throw himself in the river, to die in the mud like his father had.

"I don't want _that,_ " he said quietly. "I don't want -" He couldn't bring himself to say the words. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"You already hurt me."

"This is different," he said sharply. "They will _hurt_ you, Lily."

"And you wanted to be one of them!"

"I didn't know!"

She scoffed. He stepped toward her again without meaning to.

"You think I knew _this?_ That I would - that I would ever -"

"I don't know what you would do," she said coldly.

It was too much. He knew it was a ruinous idea before the words left his mouth, but he blurted, "And what about Potter? You don't seem to care what _he_ would do!"

"James is fighting for the Order!"

"Yes, Potter is a saint!" he snapped. "Never mind the fact that he tried to kill me!"

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Snape." Back to his surname, he noted.

"Dramatic?" he hissed. "Dumbledore may have forbidden me to tell you the truth while I was still a student, but I'm not anymore! They tried to kill me! Your precious Potter and his friends! They tried to murder me!"

"I don't believe you."

"No?" He was wild with anger now. "How do you think I ended up in the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack in the first place? Black told me! He told me how to get there, he _knew_ what I would find!"

Lily looked uncertain now. "Sirius can be - _reckless_ \- but I'm sure he wouldn't -"

"HE DID!" Severus roared.

Mrs. Evans appeared at the end of the hallway, frowning at the noise. "Young man, if you are going to yell at my daughter, I will have to _insist_ you leave!"

Severus was breathing hard, but he bit his lip to stifle any retort. Lily was staring at him with a mixture of defensiveness and disbelief.

"I don't believe you," she said again. "And if you think you can come here and try to break us up -"

"I'm not trying to _break you up,_ " he spluttered. "I'm trying to warn you - about the Death Eaters, about Potter and his friends -"

"And what do you expect in return?"

"In return?" He felt a momentary urge to shake her, but shoved it quickly away. "I don't want anything in return, Lily! Don't you understand?"

"No," she said stubbornly. "I don't. And my mother and I have both asked you to leave."

Severus glared at her for one more moment, feeling helpless and furious at the unfairness of it, but he had done what he meant to do. He had warned her. And even if she didn't take it seriously, he was certain Potter would. Whatever his other faults, the worthless bastard wouldn't want anyone taking his wife away.

"Of course," Severus said, cold and calm once more. "I am sorry to have disturbed you. Good evening."

He turned on his heel and strode out. The cool night air was a welcome sting on his cheeks, the slap of his boots through the puddles an infinitesimal relief to his anger.

He had just stepped through the garden gate when Potter and his loathsome friends Apparated directly in front of him.

For several seconds they stared at him, utterly astonished. It was time enough for him to palm his wand, although he didn't dare raise it with Lily no doubt watching from the house.

"Snape!" Potter spat, at the same moment Black jeered, "Snivellus!"

Pettigrew let out a nervous giggle. Lupin shot an uncomfortable glance at the house.

"What are you doing here?" Potter asked, recovering his usual casual tone.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Black said, looking Snape up and down. "He's probably just proposed -"

Potter grinned. "And how did that go, Snivelly? Did my girlfriend fall at your feet?"

Severus eyed him warily. He hated Potter, but this was the only opportunity he would have to ensure Potter knew of the threat to Lily. He couldn't be certain she would tell him.

"I came here to warn Lily of a plot against her."

"A plot?" Black echoed. "That's not the word you usually use for proposals, but I guess in your case -"

"What do you mean, a 'plot against her'?" Potter asked.

Severus looked him directly in his hateful eyes and said, "They intend to murder you and give her to someone else to marry."

Potter's face changed color. Even Black, ever-laughing, went pale. Satisfied, Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Leave it to Severus Snape to ruin her engagement party. Lily fumed as she listened to James and Sirius discussing plans for increased security around her parents' house with Frank and Alice, who, though not Aurors yet, had already finished the warding unit of their training and were eagerly offering their opinions on how to protect her from becoming a Death Eater's wife.

A Death Eater's wife! She wanted to throw up, or at least throw _something,_ at the thought. How _dare_ he! Come to _her_ engagement party and act as if this hadn't happened because of _him!_ Why else would they want her? She didn't know any Death Eaters (unless Mulciber and Avery had joined up, but the Order's information suggested they hadn't, yet), and there was no reason any of them would have given her a second thought.

But _he_ would. And obviously they knew it.

Seeing him on her doorstep, she hadn't for the life of her been able to remember why they had been friends. He was creepy - even creepier than he had been in school. He had been so funny and awkward before they came to Hogwarts, with his flappy, oversized clothing and his silly girlish hair and all the strange and unbelievable things he had told her about the magical world. Then he had been sorted into Slytherin and turned into the dark, pretentious teenaged boy who had looked down on her because of her birth - as if she was any lower than him, coming from Spinner's End.

And now… He looked different. The floppy awkwardness of his school robes had been replaced by clean-cut, buttoned-up robes that made him look skinny and spidery, like an ugly, spindly tree, split through with bitterness that twisted his ashen face almost beyond recognition. And he was dangerous. She had felt a stab of fear when he had stepped toward her, the intensity in his eyes even deeper now than it had been back in school. He was not a child anymore. He was a stranger, and she didn't want him anywhere near her.

"- still don't get why Snape would warn her -" Mary MacDonald was saying.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Because he fancies her, of course."

"But then why not just wait? By the sounds of it, they would've given her to him -"

"Maybe they wanted to give her to someone else," Peter offered, with a nervous glance in her direction.

"Or maybe," Frank said in a low tone, "he wanted to protect her."

That was Frank Longbottom. Of course he was the only person in the room who would give Snape the benefit of the doubt. Well, Remus might, but he wouldn't say it, not in front of James. Frank, though… Lily wasn't sure she would have invited Frank tonight, if not for Alice. She never got the impression he liked James and the others very much.

"Or maybe," Sirius said, glaring at Frank, "he was trying to scare Lily out of marrying James."

There was a murmur of agreement at that, and after what Snape had said - accusing James of attempted murder! - Lily couldn't help agreeing. That might not have been his main purpose in coming here, but he had certainly seized the opportunity when, in his twisted mind, it had presented itself.

James gave her a soft, concerned look, and came to sit beside her. "You're not scared off, are you, Lily?"

He said it lightly, like a joke, but she knew he was really trying to make sure. His little vulnerabilities just made her love him more. "I'm not scared," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Just angry."

He grinned. "Not with me, I hope."

She rolled her eyes. "With the Death Eaters. And with Snape! Did he have to do this tonight?" She glanced at the engagement banner, hanging limp and forgotten in the doorway.

James snorted. "No. Of course not. That's why he did it." He leapt to his feet. "All right, everybody - enough talk about Snape and the Death Eaters! I'm marrying the most beautiful girl in the world and I want to celebrate!"

Lily smiled. The marriage law was awful - they all agreed on that - but for her, at least, it hadn't changed much. She knew James would have proposed soon anyway. And they had a few months before their nineteenth birthdays. Plenty of time to plan a wedding.

She just hoped Snape wouldn't come anywhere near it.

* * *

Severus sat on the threadbare sofa of his tiny sitting room, staring at his packed trunk before gazing around at the bare walls. All the work he had put in last summer to make this worthless house seem magical felt wasted now, but he couldn't say he was sorry to go. He had known nothing but misery in this house, and that hadn't been likely to change.

Yet he couldn't quite muster up the courage to leave. He would, he knew. By morning he would have to be gone. That was the answer he had promised Lucius, and he was certain his sudden disappearance would be understood.

But he had no idea where to go. He had never left the country before, and though he was confident in his ability to brew potions like Polyjuice that would help him escape detection, he had scarcely more than two hundred Galleons in his vault at Gringotts and had no idea how he would make more. Relearning thousands of potions ingredients in a foreign language would take time.

And though he knew he was an adult now, he couldn't avoid remembering that he was just eighteen, utterly alone in the world, and despised by the only person he had ever loved.

Not for the first time, he reflected how much easier it would be to get cripplingly drunk like his father had done and suffocate facedown in the mud. Of course, he could brew poisons that would get the job done faster and easier than that, with more dignity.

 _No,_ he thought. He was not weak like his father. He would not be like his father.

He just didn't know what else he could be.

There were only two things he had ever wanted: to be a Death Eater, and to be with Lily. He couldn't have either, now. What was left?

 _Nothing._

It was hard to find the will to leave this place, knowing that. Hard to imagine pursuing a life in some other country when the only things he wanted - the only _thing_ he wanted - was here, forever out of reach.

But he couldn't stay. Even if the Death Eaters left him alone, there was still the marriage law to consider. In a few months, he would be nineteen, and, unless he found a wife or entered his name for a random spousal assignment, he would be arrested for violating the law.

But he wouldn't marry. Even Azkaban - he shuddered, but steeled himself - even Azkaban would be better than that. The law was hideous, and he wouldn't follow it.

He had to leave.

Slowly, with a weariness he couldn't dispel, he stood up and gripped the end of his trunk. Gringotts opened at five in the morning, and he would need to be in and out before anyone could realize what he was doing. If the Death Eaters caught him -

He clenched the handle of his trunk. They wouldn't.

He glanced at his pocket watch. It was a quarter till. He couldn't show up too early, or it would draw suspicion, but standing here, waiting, filled him with a weight that made him wish he had slept that night. Lily seemed to shimmer before his eyes, all gold skin and fiery hair, her green gaze full of hatred as she looked at him.

For one word. He could have torn out his tongue for what he had said, but how could she hate him so much for _one word?_

And yet love Potter, who had tormented him for years, who had put him in the hospital wing more times than he could count, who had tried to murder him?

The answer, of course, was simple. She didn't just hate him for that one word. She hated _him._ All of him. His weakness, his insecurity, his helplessness. His pathetic desperation and longing for her. His poverty. His darkness. His ugliness.

His love.

A wash of pain rolled over him, frothing at the edges of his nerves. He didn't want to be like this. He wanted to be strong, powerful, formidable. He wanted to be admired. And, though he hated himself for it, he wanted to be handsome, too. He wanted to be loved.

 _Foolish,_ he thought, staring blankly at the room. Had it not been in this very room that his parents had stated, on countless occasions, how much they wished he had never been born? How much easier their lives would have been without him? How they wished they could give him away to someone else, but no one, absolutely no one, would ever want him?

Now they were dead, his mother of an illness St. Mungo's could have cured had his father allowed her to go, his father dead only a few months ago, to Severus's profound relief. Yet, in that moment, there was no relief. They were dead, and he was alone.

It was time to leave. Without another glance at the room that had witnessed so many of his worst memories, he pulled his trunk to the door. He was just raising his hand to turn the knob when a knock struck the other side.

A mingling of terror and despair surged through him with more force than he would have imagined possible. He jolted backward, but froze there, unable to move toward or away from the person he knew must be standing on the other side.

The wards around the house had been breached, but he hadn't felt it. No, he had, he had just mistaken the flood along his nerve endings for grief over Lily. Now, standing there, he was all too aware when the wards over his front door dropped.

Lucius Malfoy stepped into the sitting room, alone.

"Severus," he said, somewhat surprised. His glance flickered over the bare walls, down to the trunk, and back to Severus's face.

Severus, utterly incapable of speech, sat back down.

Slowly, Lucius closed the front door. Gazing with obvious distaste at the shabbiness of the room, he made no move to approach Severus, but watched him, his wand held casually at his side.

"I thought this might be your answer," he said evenly. "You had such a strange look in your eye, last night."

"What you said disgusted me," Severus answered hoarsely. There was no point in pretending, not now.

"Yes," Lucius murmured, "I thought it might have. You have little in common with your friends." His expression turned mildly curious, though there was mild contempt as well. "Are you in love with the Mudblood girl?"

"Don't call her that."

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Are you willing to die for her?"

Severus felt cold sweep from his scalp down to the tips of his fingers. He couldn't stop them from twitching toward his wand. Lucius raised his wand swiftly.

"Let's not be foolish, shall we?"

All of Severus's instincts were on fire. He wanted his wand. How could he have allowed this to happen? He could have left, could have escaped, and now -

"I see you are not quite ready to die. Then let us put this behind us, Severus." Lucius's tone turned conciliatory. "There is no need for the Dark Lord to learn of this. Come with me to meet him, and this will be forgotten. A misunderstanding between friends."

Severus stared at him. Did he really not understand?

"Do you know why I wanted to join the Death Eaters?" he asked.

Lucius's glance traveled around the room again. "Your experiences with Muggles have been unhappy, I think."

Severus's lip curled. He felt ill with fear, but the flood of contempt that filled him then felt steadying. "My father was a Muggle. He hated magic. He snapped my mother's wand. Destroyed all of her magical belongings - what he could find, at least. She hid some of her books in my room."

Lucius looked both angry and curious. "And your mother -"

"She allowed it all," he said. He had begun to shake, but it was beyond his control to stop it. "She yelled back at him, sometimes, when she was feeling brave. He beat that out of her in time."

Lucius's anger made Severus sneer. "You are angry on her behalf? How curious."

"Curious?"

"Considering what you suggested I do."

Lucius eyed him for long seconds. "You are not your father."

"Obviously."

Lucius hesitated, then said, "You must understand, Severus. It is my responsibility to find servants for the Dark Lord. Different men are motivated by different desires -"

"And you are willing to see those desires fulfilled, regardless of how repulsive you find them." Severus's sneer deepened. "I understand perfectly."

They stared at each other for several seconds. Judging by the pink in Lucius's cheeks, Severus thought the older wizard might be ashamed. Yet there was anger flashing in his eyes.

"You are very young," he said. "And very naive."

Severus scowled. "Because I believed in you?"

Lucius flushed. "The Dark Lord _will_ win. He will build the world we seek."

"You will excuse me," Severus said coldly, "if I express my doubt. I have never sought a world in which anyone would be forced to marry me."

"Your honor does you credit," Lucius replied. "But your naivete does not. You can rise with us, Severus, or you can suffer with the rest of the cowards and Muggle-lovers who refuse to join us."

Severus gave him a bitter look. "I will suffer, I think, no matter what."

"You will suffer a great deal more," Lucius replied, "if you refuse the Dark Lord's offer."

Severus stared directly into the man's cold, gray eyes. "I refuse."

"So be it," Lucius said, twitching his wand. Severus's fingers had barely grazed his own when Lucius snarled, " _Stupefy!_ "


	4. Chapter 4

4

Severus was off the sofa and rolling across the room before the jet of light even left Lucius's wand. He felt a brief, bizarre flash of gratitude to Potter and his cronies: he could credit nothing but long experience of dodging their attacks for the instincts that protected him now.

Whipping his wand out, he snarled, _"Stupefy!"_ but thought _Sectumsempra!_

Lucius, who had cast a silent Shield Charm, reeled from the force of the unexpected - and, Severus thought with savage pleasure, unknown - curse. Though the Shield Charm slowed the blow, Severus had the satisfaction of seeing a cut open across Lucius's shoulder.

Lucius's next spell was silent, but Severus, meeting those cold eyes again, picked it out of the surface of his thoughts and blocked it. He followed quickly with a Blasting Hex, a _Sectumsempra,_ a _Levicorpus._ Lucius blocked the first, dodged the second, then yelped as the third swiped him off his feet.

Severus tried to disarm him, but Lucius was too quick. A wild flick of his wand sent an explosion of green fire toward Severus. He threw himself to the side and watched with alarm as one of the empty bookcases erupted in emerald flames.

In Severus's moment of distraction, Lucius had managed to free himself from the levitation spell. Though he crumpled clumsily to the ground, his wand slashed at Severus again, and Severus dodged behind the sofa, which exploded a moment later. Severus was ready, though: the tattered bits of cushion and stuffing ignited and streaked in white-hot bursts of flame toward Lucius. Even as the other wizard extinguished the onslaught, Severus set the carpet beneath his feet on fire.

"Damn it, Severus!" Lucius cried, stamping out the burning hem of his robes. "This is madness! Stop!"

Yet even as he spoke, he twirled his wand, and the grubby windows shattered, shards of glass attacking Severus with such ferocity that his robes and skin were shredded before he could pulverize them with an angry twist of his wand.

A moment later his trunk, packed with everything he owned, came hurtling toward him, bursting into more green flame as it slammed into him. Severus felt the pain of his lost possessions more than the rib-cracking force of its impact - his books, his potions ingredients, his research notes, his photos of Lily - all flared in a bright swirl of emerald as he struggled to regain his breath.

But Lucius was still there, and, moreover, the first bout of fire had spread past the bookcase to the stairway hidden behind it. Severus could hear creaks and roars from the house as it burned.

"Surrender, Severus," Lucius called, slightly out of breath but with an unmistakable tone of triumph in his voice. Severus could see only his silhouette, his long hair gleaming green in the firelight. "It's not too late to end this."

Severus gritted his teeth. Lucius was older, more experienced, but Severus was used to worse odds and he'd be damned if he gave up without a fight.

But he couldn't act like a bloody Gryffindor about it.

"Lucius," he gasped out. It wasn't hard to sound desperate. He was certain some of his ribs were broken, and he could barely breathe through the pain and smoke. "Lucius… please…"

Lucius stepped cautiously toward him, wand trained on him. Deliberately, Severus let his own wand fall, gazing up at Lucius from his knees.

"Lucius," he whispered.

The pale man took another step forward, and Severus looked up into his eyes.

 _Legilimens!_ he thought.

Lucius's mind was a cold well, slick and sharp and starving. Severus lashed out with all his might, smashing into the wizard's mind with all his own intensity. Distantly, he heard Lucius cry out in pain. He forced himself deeper -

\- and saw himself, just a first year, tiny and awkward and bat-like, black eyes ablaze with fury too vast for his scrawny form to handle. All around him, the splintered remnants of the cabinet Potter and his friends had locked him in - for more than a day, at that point - shivered with the force of his magic before dissolving into dust. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to destroy, to _kill,_ and he had blasted apart every desk in the room, every chair, every window. He hadn't needed his wand. He hadn't had it, anyway; they had taken it away and hidden it from him, just like his filthy Muggle father.

The classroom door had opened, and Lucius had stepped inside, Head Boy badge gleaming.

"Such rage," he had murmured, "such potential. Impressive, Severus. Very impressive…"

And then another memory, of Lucius kneeling before a cloaked figure. "My lord, I have found another servant for you - just a boy, but in a few years' time he will suit your needs perfectly -"

"Oh?" a cold voice answered, and Severus shivered at the sound.

"Powerful, intelligent, angry, desperate for approval -"

Severus had stayed in the memory too long. He felt Lucius's Occlumency shields finally closing around him, pressing him out, flinging him back into his own mind. Only a second later, Lucius hissed, _"Crucio!"_

Severus screamed. He had never heard himself make such a sound, though he had once, after his mother's death, elicited the sound from his father for a few brief seconds before his nerve had failed. They sounded exactly alike, in pain - the hoarse broken shriek that tore out of his throat might have been his father's ghost, ripping him apart in vengeance.

When the agony stopped, Severus lay in a twitching heap on the floor, the emerald ruin of his house blazing around him. An unburnt circle surrounded him, in which Lucius stood directly above him, looking coldly down.

"You see," he said quietly, "how much I have done for you? Even when you were but a child, the Dark Lord knew your name. You might have been great, Severus."

Severus shivered. He had felt the Dark magic binding Lucius to the cloaked figure, had felt the compulsion and corruption eating away at his left arm. Severus gripped his own unmarked arm and felt sick at how desperately he had longed for that.

"I was a fool," he whispered.

"Yes," Lucius said, misunderstanding him. "I will offer you one last chance, Severus. Join us, and this will be forgotten. Join us… my friend."

Severus shivered. His wand lay inches away, but his shaking fingers could not move to grasp it.

"Join us," Lucius repeated.

Severus gazed up at him, helpless. He drew in as deep a breath as he could, past his broken ribs. "I refuse."

Something flickered in Lucius's eyes, but it was not disappointment or regret, or even respect. It was fear. And Severus understood, suddenly, why Lucius kept extending this offer.

The Dark Lord would punish him for this. Lucius had promised him a servant, and had made an enemy instead.

"You will regret this," Lucius said quietly. Once more he raised his wand. _"Stupefy!"_

* * *

Lily woke to an urgent rap on her bedroom door.

"Lily!" her mother called. "Lily, wake up, there's something wrong!"

Lily knew that there was very little that could discompose her mother, and jumped out of bed immediately to open the door.

"Mum, what -"

"There's some sort of - of green light in the sky," her mother said, anxiously.

Lily went cold.

"You said the Death Eaters put up some kind of light -"

"The Dark Mark -"

"I couldn't see a skull, but there's smoke, and - and it looks like it's coming from Spinner's End."

Lily felt a swelling of horror, and, for a moment, she remembered _exactly_ why she and Severus had been friends.

"Oh, God," she gasped.

She dashed back to her nightstand, grabbed her wand, and slid her feet into a pair of shoes. "Call James!" she said urgently. "Use the Floo -"

Her mother disappeared from her doorway. Lily finished lacing up her shoes and dashed downstairs.

"Lily -" her mother and James, whose head had appeared in the fireplace, called at once.

"I have to go!" she shouted, and, ignoring their cries of warning, she sprinted out the front door and down the street.

She couldn't Apparate there. Knowing Severus, he'd have wards a mile wide, and Frank had set his own wards for a quarter mile around her house in every direction. But she had made this run a thousand times, skipping happily to meet him, or stomping angrily away whenever he had said something stupid. She knew if she ran fast, she could be there in ten minutes.

 _Ten minutes,_ she thought. That was an eternity in a fight, she remembered that much from Defense Against the Dark Arts. And if they had already cast the Dark Mark, then Severus was already dead.

Autumn dawn was still an hour away, but she could see clearly: the green glow lit the cloudy sky. She couldn't make out a skull through the smoke burgeoning rapidly upward, but she knew it could be there, its hideous snake sliding through the coils of smoke beneath it.

The crack of Apparation ahead of her made her steps falter, but it was just James and Sirius, appearing at the edge of the wards Frank had set. She sprinted to meet them.

"Where -" James began, but Sirius had turned and spotted the light.

"There!" he said.

"Lily, your mother wants you -"

"Get out of the way, James!"

James knew that tone far too well to argue with her.

"The Aurors are on their way," Sirius panted as they ran. "Moony spent the night last night, he was sending a message to Frank when we left -"

 _Just let it not be too late,_ Lily thought.

"This way!" she snapped at them, cutting across two gardens and racing past the playground where she and Severus had first met.

Why did he have to be so _stupid?_

They could smell the smoke now. Lily saw the dirty sign marking Spinner's End ahead of them and forced herself to keep running through the burning in her lungs. As they rounded the corner, they all let out cries of alarm: green fire had spread from the end of the street, engulfing several houses. But there was no Dark Mark in sight.

Lily coughed as they neared the scene, her lungs seizing up from the run and the smoke. And from fear - she could see Severus's house, what was left of it. Charred bricks crumbled away even as she watched, while the house's innards were a nightmare of black smoke and green flame.

Lily started forward, but James grabbed hold of her. "Wait -"

"James -"

"Hold on, Lily," Sirius said, raising his wand. _"Homenum Revelio!"_

They waited for long seconds. Sirius shook his head. "There's no one alive in there."

Lily gasped, more in shock than grief. James gripped her shoulder hard.

"We need to put this out," Sirius said, gesturing at the flames. "The Muggles -"

"These are all abandoned," Lily said, with a feeling of dreadful relief. "But yes -"

Together, they raised their wands and started spraying the houses down with heavy bursts of water. The fire, though clearly cursed, was not Dark enough to resist the deluge, and within minutes the worst of the conflagration had dimmed.

It was only seconds later that the Aurors arrived.

Moody was in the lead, to Lily's relief. She had met more than a few of the Aurors at social functions with Alice, and though she hated Death Eaters as much as any Muggleborn would, she couldn't help feeling that some of wizards fighting them were almost as creepy. Moody, though, was good. He was Dumbledore's friend, and, if he was a little rough around the edges, he made up for it with his cleverness and strength.

"Frank said you saw the Dark Mark -" he growled.

"No Dark Mark," James said. "It was green fire - it wiped out half the block - and Snape's house -" He gestured to the ruin in front of them. "There's no one living inside."

"Snape? That'd be Severus Snape? Friends with Lucius Malfoy?"

It shouldn't have surprised Lily that the Aurors knew who Snape was, but it did, and she felt disturbed.

"That's the one," Sirius said. "Creepy little git. Showed up at Lily's house last night -"

Moody turned an interested eye on her.

"He said the Death Eaters were - well -"

"They offered to kill James and marry Lily to Snape if he'd join them," Sirius said succinctly. "He told Lily he turned them down -"

"Did he now?" Moody said, looking even more interested.

"He said he would never join them," Lily said, blushing slightly. "I - I told him to leave - but he must have been in trouble -"

She tried hard not to start crying, she really did, but tears were sliding down her face before she could stop them.

"Lily," James said soothingly, putting an arm around her. "It's not your fault - of course you didn't want the greasy git in your house -"

"He was being so _horrible,_ " she sobbed. "But - if he was in trouble -"

"Not your fault," Moody said gruffly. "Snape's been on our list for a while now. You couldn't've known whether to trust him." His gaze roved over the smoking wreckage. "Still don't."

"You think it's a ruse?" James asked, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"Could be. You been inside?"

"Not yet."

"Good. It's going to stay that way. Don't need you mucking up the evidence."

James looked a little abashed, but Lily was relieved. She didn't think she could stand to see… whatever was left.

Moody and a couple of other Aurors climbed over the smoking front steps and into the shadowy waste of Severus's house. She saw the smoke clear slightly as they cast _Evanesco_ charms and watched the bright white of several _Lumos_ spells flash across the blackened walls. She turned and buried her face in James's shoulder, not wanting to think about it anymore.

When the Aurors climbed out again, Lily knew at once that they hadn't found anyone. Moody didn't look grave, he looked intrigued.

"Looks like there was quite a duel in there," he said. "Furniture blasted apart, hex marks all over the walls - some blood, too, we'll get that back to the Ministry for testing. A swig of Polyjuice could tell us if it was Snape or someone else."

Lily shivered.

"Looks like Snape was clearing out, though," Moody said. "There's not much left of the house, but the shelves and cupboards are empty, and there's a potions lab in the cellar that was packed up quick, by the look of it. And we found this."

He held out a charred box, which, to Lily's surprise, he handed to her.

"His trunk went up in flames, but not everything burned," he said.

Lily took the box, which, despite what Moody had said, was seared black and barely holding together. Inside, she found the burned scraps of photographs.

Photographs of her. Of _them._

She stared at them, startled. They were Muggle photos. Her mother had taken them one weekend when she, Lily, and Tuney had gone to the fair. To Tuney's dismay, their mother had insisted on bringing along "that poor little Snape boy" as well. Lily had completely forgotten about it, although she supposed her mother's copy of the photographs was stored in a box somewhere in the house. Obviously, Severus had _not_ forgotten. Looking at the pictures, she could understand why. The broad grin on his too-skinny face was probably the biggest smile she had ever seen on him.

"What is that?" James asked.

"It's - nothing -" she said, in a strangled voice. She shoved the box back at Moody, who gave her a shrewd look.

"So what do you think?" Sirius asked, ignoring the look on James's face. "Snape tried to run, and they caught him?"

"That'd be the most obvious answer," Moody said. "Don't know if you noticed, but the wards around the place were dismantled -"

"Who could have done that?" Lily asked, startled. "Sev- I mean, Snape was always so paranoid. He was good at wards. I think."

"They were good," Moody acknowledged. "But Snape's only, what, eighteen? It takes experience to really know your wards. And Voldemort's got more than enough experienced ward-breakers on his side. How else do you think he keeps breaking into Wizarding homes?"

Lily blanched a little at that. Maybe she should have Moody look into the wards around her house, instead of Frank.

"So what next?" James asked.

"We test the blood, see what we can find out." He shrugged, turning away.

"But what about Severus?" Lily asked.

Moody gave her a pitying look. "If they've got him, he's as good as dead."


	5. Chapter 5

5

Severus clawed his way back to consciousness, flashes of green fire and dark despair clinging to his memory, dragging him back into dreams. Gasping through the gnawing pain in his side, he opened his eyes briefly, absorbed the pretentious decor of Malfoy Manor, and promptly shut them again.

What he would not have given, two days ago, to be invited again into this haven of pureblood ideals.

It was almost immediately after graduation that Lucius had brought him to Malfoy Manor, for the first and only time. Mulciber had been invited as well, though Avery, at that juncture, had been considered unworthy. They had sat in Lucius's decadent parlor, sipping brandy that cost more than Severus's father had made in a month and discussing the Dark Arts in intoxicating depth. Lucius had told them of the Dark Lord, had shown them his Mark, and had promised them power and respect if they chose to join.

Severus doubted he would receive such promises now.

His fingers, cold with shock, clenched futilely, seeking a wand that wasn't there. He felt the sudden cool mass of marble beneath his face, and realized someone had just lowered him to the floor.

"What happened?" Narcissa's low, lilting voice asked urgently. "Lucius, what have you done?"

"He refused," Lucius said simply.

"But why?"

Severus gritted his teeth against a laugh. Yes, let Lucius try to explain that to his wife.

"He's in love with a Mudblood," Lucius sneered.

"That Evans girl?"

"You knew? My dear, you should have told me."

"He was fond of her in school," Narcissa answered coolly. "I assumed he had overcome the association."

"Evidently not."

"He will be disappointed. Potter announced his betrothal to the girl in this morning's _Prophet._ "

"I have already made it clear to him that Potter is disposable. He refuses to see sense."

Narcissa's voice lowered further. "And what will you do with him? The Dark Lord is expecting his loyalty -"

"I will present him to the Dark Lord for punishment," Lucius said flatly. "There is nothing else I can do -"

"He will punish _you,_ Lucius!"

"Less than if I had allowed him to escape -"

"There is another way!"

A silence followed. Severus wanted to open his eyes, but the advantage of keeping them closed was too much to sacrifice.

"Ahh," Lucius said. "I do not think that will be successful."

"At least try, Lucius!"

"Very well. _Imperio!"_

Severus braced himself at the first syllable, but even his Occlumency shields could not block the first onslaught of utter contentment and peace.

 _You will be loyal,_ a voice in his head commanded gently. _You will serve the Dark Lord._ _It is what you have always wanted._

Severus floated, momentarily enveloped in calm. Yes, he had wanted to serve the Dark Lord. It would bring him power, recognition, honor -

 _No,_ a voice within him answered, _no honor - Lily -_

 _Lily will respect you,_ the strange voice assured. _Lily will want you._

A strange thrill went through him, originating from the strange voice. Pride and confidence, hope and an almost sexual sensation of self-assurance swelled within him.

 _She will want you,_ the strange voice repeated.

Severus struggled to picture her, his Lily, her fiery hair and cool green eyes, her triumph as she floated down from the swing, her uncertainty as she asked if she would fit in.

Instead, he saw the look of revulsion on her face as she uttered one word: _"You?"_

Lucius must have felt his control slipping, for the voice in his head was no longer gentle, but harsh. _You WILL obey me! You WILL!_

That, Severus knew, was a mistake. Lucius should have known better. Severus had never been motivated by fear of the Death Eaters, only be the desire to be one of them. Lucius had spent years encouraging that desire. The sudden threat was like the blast of a Freezing Charm.

Severus's shields solidified like ice, lashing outward with sharp, cold fury. The Imperius Curse broke on the surface of his mind like a helpless wave.

"I refuse," Severus snarled.

Narcissa looked startled, her pale face white in the dawn light streaming through the windows. Beside her, Lucius looked irritated, but not surprised.

"I told you it would not work," he said to his wife. "He would have made an excellent servant for our lord."

Narcissa's lips pursed at the word _our,_ but she said nothing. Severus took the opportunity to lean to the side and spit blood onto one of Lucius's obscenely expensive rugs. It was vulgar, the kind of thing his father would have done, but seeing the look on Lucius's face was worth it.

And, after all, he would be seeing his father soon.

"You realize," Narcissa said, looking directly at him, "that you will die for this?"

"Really, Narcissa, you should place less value on your decor."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "This amuses you?"

Severus tried to sit up, felt a lance of pain through his side, and fell still. "Did you expect me to cower?"

She stared at him for long moments, looking more annoyed than anything. "Men," she murmured.

"I resent the comparison," Lucius replied softly.

"This was your foolish idea," she said, her voice cold. "If you had left the boy alone -"

"He showed great potential."

"And he chose to side with filth," she countered.

"Yes," Lucius said. "I am very disappointed. It was a mistake. I shall acknowledge as much before the Dark Lord." His next breath was quick, as if the thought of that encounter pained him - or terrified him. "But the Dark Lord will be forgiving. I have brought him the boy."

Narcissa cast another glance at Severus, her features taut with displeasure. "Is the Dark Lord aware of his refusal?"

"Not yet."

She turned her full gaze on Severus once again. He knew what she intended; the beautiful features she shared with her Black sisters had been put to such use more than once in his presence, although she had never directed her manipulations toward him before.

"Severus," she said softly. "There is still time -"

"No," he cut her off.

She pressed her lips together tightly. He glared at her for so long a flush crept over her face.

"Fine," she said. "On your own head be it."

Severus smirked. "And on dear Lucius's."

Lucius scowled. Narcissa looked furious. "My husband may be punished for your weakness," she sneered, "but _you_ will die for it."

"I imagine there will be torture first," Severus remarked, as coolly as he could manage through his broken ribs.

"Don't be a fool," Lucius snapped. "Bravado will not lessen your agony."

Severus said nothing. He was, of course, afraid. The Dark Lord was a great wizard, whose darkest gifts even his closest servants had not yet discovered. Severus had no doubt his death would be excruciating.

But then it would be over. The wasted terror of his childhood, the bitter helplessness of his youth, the sharp, broken shards of the hope he had nursed, despite himself, that Lily might someday forgive him. All would be gone. He had lived his life like a log thrown on a fire, burning slowly, inevitably away, choking everyone around him with the smoke of his hatred while they pushed him deeper and deeper into the blackening flames.

But now, finally, his tortured, crooked life would end. The fire would go out, and there would only be ashes, clean and soft and unbreakable. Whatever sick part of him envied his father his death would be rewarded now.

It was the only reward he would ever reap.

As the Malfoys left him, paralyzed, to prepare themselves for the evening ahead, Severus stared blankly at the marble floor, trying and this time failing to picture Lily's face. He had been happy with her, hadn't he? He had stolen a few good moments, he must have.

Yet all he could remember now was the anxiety of her presence, the fear of scaring her away with his ugliness, his poverty, his vulgarity. The desperate longing to be approved by her, to be loved. The misery of knowing he wasn't good enough.

How pitiful.

Lucius's paralysis spell was strong. Severus knew, from the occasional maddening gong of the opulent grandfather clock, that hours had passed. Pale, gray daylight filled the room, though he could not turn to see the windows. Every once in a while, he would hear footsteps as Lucius or Narcissa hurried around the manor in pursuit of some goal or other.

It was frustrating to spend his last hours of life lying here in a miasma of fear and ever-increasing boredom. In fact, it was absurd. He had spent more time than was healthy considering the circumstances of his own death, and he had always imagined something more dramatic than this. A terrible duel, usually. There had been a duel, of course, but he hadn't expected to be paralyzed afterward. It was anticlimactic in the extreme.

He suspected that feeling would fade once the torture began.

He tried to imagine what he would have wanted to do with the time, if Lucius had been struck by a fit of benevolent madness and allowed him a few hours' freedom before his inescapable demise. Kissing Lily? That might have been at the top of his list, if he hadn't seen her look of repugnance last night. A repulsed Lily was not a kissable Lily. What then? Read a book? Brew a potion? Find Potter and Black for one last bone-breaking brawl?

The pointlessness of his hypothetical last hours was not encouraging. And he knew very well that no one would miss him when he was gone. He didn't even have an owl or a cat to mourn his absence.

Perhaps it should have comforted him that his death would inflict no further pain on the world, but it didn't. He wanted to _matter_ \- to someone, to something. He wanted his death to destroy the world as anyone knew it.

Selfish, perhaps, but between his paralysis and impending doom it was difficult to be reasonable.

"Is sir needing the bathroom?"

Severus would have blinked at the unexpected voice, if his eyelids had not been frozen wide open. He thought he recognized the voice. It was Lucius's squeaky house-elf. Doddy, or something of the sort.

"Dobby is to take sir to the bathroom," the elf said nervously, his filthy bare feet coming into view on the marble floor. With a click of the elf's fingers, Severus felt his entire body slump against the floor in desperate relief. He had to stifle a rather mortifying sob.

"Can sir walk?" the elf asked doubtfully.

Severus lifted his aching neck to eye the anxious creature. It was ugly, with ludicrously large eyes and ears and a truly atrocious-looking pillowcase. Severus might have thanked the elf, if he hadn't been completely certain that its interference was only at the Malfoys' behest. It was difficult to guess which of the two was more horrified at the idea of him urinating on their floor.

Though Severus had enjoyed discomfiting them by spitting on the rug, he had far too much dignity (and, perhaps, decency) to lower himself further. With shaking limbs, he pushed himself to his feet.

The elf eyed him warily. "The bathroom is this way, sir!"

Edging backwards out of the room, the elf spent more time watching Severus than the floor in front of him. It was therefore no surprise when he banged his head in the doorway.

"Bad Dobby," he muttered, and banged it again for good measure. Severus didn't know whether to laugh or join in. Perhaps if he banged his head hard enough, the concussion would keep him unconscious for the duration of his torture.

He didn't even consider running. Well, he considered it, but he was not a complete lackwit. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa would have sent the elf to him without the express order to prevent him from escaping. Without a wand, Severus doubted he was a match for house-elf magic.

"Where is my wand?" he asked, in a voice that rasped. If the elf had not been expressly forbidden from telling him, perhaps -

"Master has it, sir. He is putting it in a drawer in the study."

Severus knew where the study was. He had drunk brandy there, not so very long ago.

"Sir must not try to escape," the elf said sternly, but his eyes were bulging with fear. "Sir must use the bathroom and return to the drawing room."

Severus didn't deign to respond. The elf showed his aching body into the bathroom and told him, in a voice pitched high with nerves, that he would be waiting outside.

The bathroom was large, luxurious, and, to his complete lack of surprise, windowless. After relieving himself, he inspected it carefully, briefly debated the merits of drowning himself in the sink, then paused in front of the mirror, taken aback.

His usually unappealing face had achieved new depths of ugliness. Between the bruises and the cuts from the shattered window, it had turned a brownish purple color, streaked with black strands of hair that had dried in his blood. The sight unnerved him. He looked - well, he looked like a boy, like the boy he had been, the boy who had stood in front of the mirror too many times to count after suffering the consequences of his father's drunken Muggle rages.

Methodically, he washed the blood off his face. His heart was beating strangely, not fast, but harder than usual. This was his face, as it would always be. He would die with these cuts and bruises. He would die looking like no more than a boy.

He wondered, suddenly, if all this waiting was intentional on Lucius's part. If he hoped that hour after hour of contemplating his own death would bring Severus around. It might have, if it had been the first time Severus had entertained these thoughts. If it had not been for the hours hiding from his father, under his bed, in the closets, in the bushes by the playground, under the bridge over the river where his father had ultimately died. If it had not been for the pranks Potter and his friends had played, so often so close to deadly. If it had not been for that night in the Shrieking Shack.

Severus could not contemplate his death with composure, but he could contemplate it with resignation.

When he opened the bathroom door, he found Dobby in an agony of uncertainty, wringing his ears, wobbling back and forth, slapping his bare feet on the floor.

"Sir!" he said, in obvious relief. "Sir is not trying to escape!"

Severus thought of the alternatives he could have chosen. He had identified at least seven separate methods of committing suicide while he was in the bathroom. It might have spared him a great deal of pain.

"Sir is returning to the drawing room," Dobby said, bouncing slightly in relief. "Sir is following Dobby!"

"And has Dobby been commanded to paralyze me again?" he asked wearily.

The elf's ears dropped. "Yes, sir. Dobby is to leave you exactly as he found you."

"How unfortunate."

Dobby gave him a serious look. "It is, sir. But Dobby must do as he is told. If it were up to Dobby, he would leave you in a much more comfortable position, sir. He would prop you up with pillows!"

"It's the thought that counts."

The elf looked cheered by this, and led him to the drawing room with far fewer nervous looks. Severus wondered if he could move fast enough to break the creature's neck. The elf would probably be better off, and he certainly would.

But no. Severus had never excelled at physical violence. His Muggle father might have managed such an attack, but Severus doubted he could. Even his darkest spells had always been meant to defend.

Dobby was just positioning him back on the floor - taking great care to make sure he was hunched over in just the right (and awful) position - when a distant tinkling alarm sounded somewhere in the house.

Dobby froze, then darted to the window. "Someone is coming!"

Severus, who was more than happy to delay his next session of paralysis, leaped to his feet and stuck his nose to the window beside Dobby's. Across the meticulously groomed expanse of land, Severus thought he could make out a group of people at the gate.

To his complete astonishment, and the dismay of the suddenly shrieking alarm, the gate burst open and the people flooded in.

"Aurors!" Lucius shouted from the hall.

Severus's heart jumped. Could it be - was he saved?


	6. Chapter 6

6

Moody surveyed the facade of the old English manor with immense distaste.

Pretentious, that's what it was. It might have been beautiful, in another wizard's hands, but the Malfoys and their damned pureblood pride had stained every inch of it. Everything from the unnaturally pristine hedges to the stained glass windows of the upper floors (depicting scenes from the Malfoy family history, like they were goddamned saints) screamed wealth and the sort of obsessive orderliness that Moody associated with the very rich and the very cold.

The Malfoys, of course, were both.

A bit of mess, a bit of clutter, that was what Moody liked. Left a trail. Lucius Malfoy - or, rather, the Snape boy - had left quite the trail. Most of the blood had been Snape's, but there had been one nice messy spatter that told them Snape'd gotten a hit in.

They'd been looking for dirt on Malfoy for years. Anyone with eyes could see he must've involved himself with Voldemort and his ilk, but Malfoy was slippery. Too clean for comfort.

Not anymore, though.

Malfoy's wards were better than Snape's, but Moody had the might of the Ministry behind him. Barty Crouch himself had come out for this raid. He glanced at Moody, nodded once, and Moody relayed the nod to his team.

"On three," he growled. "One - two -"

They all knew him well enough to remember that "on three" always meant "on two," and the defenses of the gate - which had bristled in preparation for the "three" that never came - fell quickly beneath the early attack.

"Good work," Moody growled, but Crouch was already striding ahead, leading them in his too-clean wake toward the manor.

Crouch. Moody couldn't pretend to like him much. He was a cold fanatic, competent but extreme. Moody might have tended toward the paranoid, but Crouch was something else altogether. Obsessive. Merciless. Moody wanted to catch. Crouch wanted to crush. Still, Moody wouldn't be sorry to see Malfoy in the man's neatly groomed hands. Any Death Eater who could burn down half a street of Muggle houses - inhabited or not - needed locking up.

They swept up the main path to the manor, not bothering to fan out over the perfectly manicured grounds. Moody had already stationed Aurors all around the outer wall, and Crouch had authorized the erection of anti-transportation wards in a half-mile radius of the place. No Apparation, no Portkeys, and the Floo had been shut off this morning. Even brooms would get zapped by the wards, if they weren't shot down by Aurors first.

Moody hadn't been surprised by the extreme measures. They'd experienced nothing but losses in the past few months, and Crouch wanted to make an example. Who better than wealthy, snobbish Malfoy, the most distinguished representative of pureblood pride? The _Prophet_ would be writing about this raid for weeks. It might even get a mention in the history books one day.

That didn't interest Moody. He wanted to get his job done and put the scum behind bars. The rest was for the Crouches and Dumbledores of the world.

They didn't knock on Malfoy's polished front doors. The Aurors slipped quietly through the cascade of broken wards, silent but for the crackle of magical tension around the strongest of the team: Savage, Robards, Moody himself. Crouch, if he hadn't been such a cold fish.

The Aurors spread out, searching the place, avoiding touching anything for fear it might have been cursed. They disarmed a few booby traps near the door, but the deeper they went, the fewer traps had been set. Apparently, they had caught Malfoy by surprise. Or Malfoy wanted it to look that way.

"Constant vigilance," he growled, seeing the looks of reckless anticipation on some of the younger Aurors' faces.

"Here!" a voice called out suddenly, tense and low, from a doorway.

A half dozen wands swung up at the sound, but Moody snarled, "Snape!"

The boy was standing straight, obviously trying to put up a brave front, but Moody could see the signs of breathless relief beneath his bruised face.

"Where's Malfoy?" Crouch snapped at him.

The boy's cold black eyes flickered to Crouch, widened slightly, then narrowed. His tone was casual only in the most forced of ways. "Gone by now, probably. He saw you at the gate."

Proudfoot took a menacing step forward, which Snape watched with disdain. "The truth, boy!"

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Proudfoot," Moody growled.

Snape's eyes turned to him, widening again. Moody knew Snape must recognize him - hell, with the scars, everyone did - but the boy kept his straight posture.

"They can't've gotten out," Moody said. "Wards around the place. Which way'd they go?"

Snape jerked his head strangely, but said, "Somewhere upstairs. I didn't hear. They have an elf guarding me."

"An elf?"

Moody took a peek inside the room. A dirty little house-elf was banging his head on the floor and muttering, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Some guard," Proudfoot muttered.

"I can't leave the room," Snape responded, tapping his hand against an invisible barrier in the doorway. There was something twitchy about his movements that Moody didn't like, something odd in his eyes. From behind him, the elf's moaning refrain grew louder, "Bad Dobby! _Bad Dobby!_ "

"We're wasting time," Crouch snapped. He was already halfway up the stairs, followed by two others. "Leave the boy. We'll deal with him later."

Snape shot him a dark look at that, but said nothing. It wasn't until Moody was turning away that he caught another strange jerk of the black-haired boy's head out of the corner of his eye.

"Something you want to say, Snape?"

The boy gritted his teeth. His entire body seemed to shudder. Behind him, the elf wailed, " _Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"_ Yet all the boy said was, "Upstairs."

"Stop!" Moody barked, glancing over to where Crouch and the others were nearing the top of the stairs. "I said _stop,_ Dawlish, don't -"

The second Dawlish's foot set down on the landing, the marble staircase exploded. Moody dodged into the drawing room where Snape was standing, knocking the boy to the floor. Behind him, he heard Proudfoot give one gurgling cry before he collapsed across the threshold, blood pouring from his mouth. Beyond, Moody could see dust and debris, along with dark splotches that might have been body parts -

"BAD DOBBY!" the elf half-screamed, half-sobbed. " _BAD DOBBY!"_

"Lucius!" Snape snarled, his face twisted horribly in some inner struggle. Then his eyes met Moody's, and he gasped, "The elf -"

Moody turned to see the elf pointing a finger at Snape, whimpering, "Bad Dobby, bad Dobby -"

Moody saw the crackle of magic at the elf's fingertip, heard Snape hiss, "- has to kill -"

" _Stupefy!"_ Moody snapped, and the elf dropped, an expression of anguished relief on his features.

"The fl-" Snape hissed again, his teeth gritted as if every word were an excruciating feat. "Floor… rug…"

Moody could hear the Aurors outside the room groaning in pain, those that could utter sounds at all, but he could also hear Savage and Robards checking the wounded. Malfoy couldn't stop being a priority. Disable the threat, that had to come first.

Sweeping his wand in an arc, Moody flung the rug covering the marble floor to the side. The floor beneath was smooth, as clean as everything else in this blasted house - or as clean as it had been, before it had been blown to pieces - but Moody knew there must be something there, for the Snape boy to be fighting so hard to tell him.

Then again, it could be another trap. He glanced at the boy, whose brow was furrowed, his gaze turned inward, still struggling. The Imperius, probably, but Moody hadn't ruled out some other form of compulsion. Stupid of Malfoy not to kill the boy right away - the Aurors would've gone up the stairs anyway even without his encouragement - but perhaps Malfoy hadn't had the time.

Then again, perhaps he'd feared the Aurors would detect the trap unless they were urged into it by Snape's involuntary lie.

"What am I looking for, Snape?" he asked.

Snape opened his mouth to speak, grimaced as some other force prevented him, then crawled across the floor, gasping in pain at every movement, and pressed his fingers against a swirl in the marble.

"Pandora," he whispered.

The password was ominous, and Moody braced himself, but as the floor slid apart, the only threat was Malfoy, blasting curses up at him from a position of extreme disadvantage.

A few countercurses and Stunning spells later, and Malfoy collapsed in a heap on the floor of the hidden chamber. His wife stood motionless in a corner, her wand not even drawn. Moody gave her a grim look. If she was hoping to avoid Azkaban, she'd be out of luck, with the mess of dead and mangled Aurors out in the hall.

"Get up here," he growled, training his wand on her. With a cold, albeit pale look, she ascended a narrow ladder and climbed out onto the marble floor. She cast Snape a hateful glance. He looked back at her, still gasping in pain, but no longer struggling. Whether he felt triumph or regret at turning her over to the Aurors was impossible to say. His face was as expressionless as ice.

Moody bound her, then bound and levitated Malfoy up from the chamber below. The floor slid closed again as soon as Malfoy's trailing robes left its depths, but it didn't matter. Moody had access now, and the Aurors (those who were left) would turn the place inside out.

He left them both huddled in a corner, and went to check on the mess outside. It was bad, worse than bad. Dawlish was plastered all over the walls, along with a few others. Savage and Robards, who had stayed at the foot of the stairs with Moody, were cut up but functioning, though judging from the stench of vomit one or the other of them had lost their lunch.

Moody helped them drag an injured Auror - hard to tell who, with his face scraped off - over toward the door, clear of the upper landing, which looked in danger of falling.

"Mediwizards are on their way," Savage told him, sweeping her short blond hair off her sweaty, blood-specked forehead as she spoke. She towered over him, a giant of a woman, her expression as grim as Moody's. If he had to guess, he'd say it was the other Auror who had vomited.

"Crouch!" Robards exclaimed suddenly.

Moody and Savage picked their way across shattered stone to join him. Moody would've expected Crouch to be among those dripping down the walls, but the blast seemed to have thrown him over the banister, landing him on a leg that jutted in the wrong direction. He was in better shape than most.

"Malfoy," he said immediately, his crisp tone unaffected by his broken leg or the carnage around them. His unpleasantly neat mustache had a cut through it, so straight and even he might have made the incision himself.

"We've got 'em," Moody growled. "Not that they were worth the price."

Crouch's eyes darkened. "Every Death Eater is worth the price," he said.

Savage and Robards said nothing, though they exchanged a glance with Moody that might have been translated into a slap across Crouch's face, if any of them had less self-control. Instead, they helped the wizard to his feet - well, foot - and Robards, a dab hand at healing, splinted the leg and Transfigured a crutch from the section of banister Crouch had fallen over, which lay in splintered ruin around them.

"Take me to them," Crouch ordered.

Moody sent Savage and Robards back to the business of sorting the wounded from the dead with a jerk of his head. Keeping an eye on Crouch to make sure he didn't take another fall, Moody led him into the drawing room, where the Malfoys (both conscious now) sat glowering at Snape, who had eased himself into a sitting position and was clutching his ribs while glaring back.

"Why isn't the boy bound?" Crouch snapped at once.

"He was Imperiused," Moody said.

Crouch gave him an incredulous look. "That," he said, "is hardly certain."

Snape wrenched his gaze away from the Malfoys and stared at Crouch. Before Moody could say another word, Crouch had pointed his wand at the boy and crisply incanted, " _Incarcerous!_ "

Snape looked alarmed. "But -"

"The boy showed me where the Malfoys were hiding," Moody interjected. "There's a hidden chamber under the floor there. He opened it. Might not've found them without him."

Crouch's expression was dark with fury. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he was merely saving his own skin, once he realized he had squandered his chance to escape."

Snape opened his mouth, his expression one of indignation and disdain, but Moody shook his head sharply.

"We'll sort it out at the Ministry," Moody muttered.

"The Ministry?" Crouch echoed. "No, I don't think so. I have already summoned the Dementors."

He fingered the talisman at his neck, the creepy cold device every Auror wore. Moody's own seemed to press a little more coldly against his collarbone as he realized what Crouch intended.

"No trial?" he guessed, scowling at the other man.

Snape had gone deathly white.

"It's not necessary," Crouch insisted.

"Not for the Malfoys," Moody said. "But for the boy -" Moody gave Snape an appraising look, which Snape returned with a desperate mingling of defiance and fear. "I'll have to insist on that."

Crouch looked at him. Crouch was the boss, of course, but Moody held a lot of sway, and not just in the Ministry. He'd brought in more Death Eaters than the rest of the Aurors combined. If Moody wanted to, he could put Crouch in a sticky situation.

He was not surprised when Crouch seemed to realize this.

"Fine," he said. "Once we have - recovered - from this incident," his gaze flickered impassively to the bloodbath in the hall - "the boy will receive a trial."

"And until then?" Snape asked, so quietly Moody almost didn't hear.

"Until then," Crouch said, fixing him with a cold look, "you will go where all suspected criminals go."

Moody had gained as much as he could with the promise of a trial, so he said nothing now.

Crouch turned his head as cold shadows flooded through the windows, wraith-like shapes shifting in front of the glass.

"To Azkaban."


	7. Chapter 7

7

They disembarked from a rotting pier off the coast of northern Scotland, a cold, rugged place drenched with mist and salt. By then, they were all shivering: Lucius, with his long hair loose and stained with dust, Narcissa, with her lips set in a thin line but her hands shaking in her lap, and Severus, who had been able to think of nothing but his father since they'd left the manor.

An Auror was with them, but it wasn't Moody. Severus had never seen the towering, grim-faced woman before, though he recognized her by reputation: Savage. So far, she had failed to live up to the name, but Severus wouldn't have bet against her in a duel. She looked like she could knock most opponents flat even without a wand. Her Patronus, an enormous tiger, kept the Dementors well at bay, though of course she made no effort to shield her prisoners.

"In," she commanded, gesturing with her wand at the rickety skiff wobbling over the waves beside the pier. Lucius and Narcissa both gave her incredulous looks, the Dementors' gloom evidently not sufficient yet to overcome their more fastidious preferences.

At their hesitation, a Dementor swept near them, and they all but toppled into the boat, cowering at the bow and eyeing the Dementors on the shore with pitiful dread.

Severus didn't need to be prompted. His movements were jerky with the awareness of an enemy to every side, but he seated himself in the center of the boat, while Savage took her place at the stern. Her Patronus prowled behind her, casting its silver gaze from side to side as it surveyed the Dementors with a threatening glance.

With a tap of her wand, Savage sent the skiff sliding forward, cutting through the waves with a smoothness Severus would not have expected of the shabby vessel. For one fleeting moment, he hoped the Dementors might keep their distance over the ocean. Then he saw them lift up from the shore, dragging their ragged mists behind them as they glided over the gray waves. He closed his eyes, fingers twitching for his wand, but it would have been no use had he had it. He had never so much as tried to cast a Patronus before. He wasn't even certain he remembered the incantation.

A sharp wind picked up as they sped across the sea, cutting through the Dementors' mist without lifting even a fragment of the gloom. All Severus could see, in every direction, were the shadowy forms of Dementors, their tattered robes billowing eerily over the silent water. The howl of the wind was the only sound. The Malfoys had both clamped their hands over their ears, but Severus kept his fists clenched in his lap, unwilling to cut off a single one of his senses. He was helpless against the danger surrounding him, but cowering under the blankets with his eyes and ears covered had never helped before…

… though it hadn't stopped him, when he heard the shouting start, when the crash of breaking glass and the harsh scrape of a chair against the scratched wooden floor woke him from the half-sleep that was all he ever managed. The sounds were muffled by the floor that separated them, but the kitchen was directly under Severus's bedroom, and its bare emptiness always magnified every sound. Severus had learned that to his great remorse when he had snuck a snack out of the pantry a few months ago.

"WHERE'S THE RUDDY BEER?"

Severus flinched. There was only one answer his mother could give to that, and though he didn't hear the exact words, he heard their timid cadence: " _You drank it all._ "

Then a heavy thud, the scrape of the table's legs as it slid beneath a falling person's weight.

And Severus, clutching his hands over his ears, with his eyes tightly shut, the thin, comfortless blanket yanked up all around him, heard everything, every hit, every crash, every sob.

The memory shifted, and this time _he_ was in the kitchen, too, shoveling his meager dinner into his mouth as fast as his little hands could manage, while the tension around him escalated, the voices getting louder, the dishes clattering with every thump of a fist against the table, until finally, as Severus was gulping down the dirty tap water in his cup -

"YOU WORTHLESS _BITCH!_ "

And Severus, too naive to know better, had corrected, "No, Dad, it's 'witch' -"

Severus had dropped his cup in alarm as his father swept his arm across the table and knocked half the dishes they owned to shatter on the floor.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he snarled.

Across the table from him, Severus's mother had a terrified look on her face.

"WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN TELLING HIM?" His father's face, which even at that age Severus recognized might be the future of his own, was twisted into a hideous grimace. "YOU FILTHY DEVIL'S WH-"

He had shoved the table aside, so hard that it knocked into Severus's ribs, slamming him backward into his chair, which fell with a crack to the floor. One second, the horrible Muggle his mother had married had his fist raised to strike her; the next, Severus felt a thrill of rage and power, and the table shot back across the room, slamming into his father with bone-fracturing force and pinning him against the far wall.

And he remembered, through the memory, the whispered words his mother had confided to him only weeks before: " _Your first time will be special, Severus - one of the happiest moments of your life -_ "

He was not happy, but he was powerful, and that was more important, wasn't it?

Severus drew in a shuddering gasp, the sting of the salty wind snapping him back to the miserable present. A few feet away, Narcissa had curled up in a ball, moaning as she clutched her face. Lucius was muttering to himself, something that sounded like, "Please, my lord…"

When Severus looked behind, he saw Savage with the same grim look on her face, while behind her the tiger bounded over the ocean, keeping pace.

Severus kept his gaze on the Patronus, trying to derive, if not safety, then at least distraction from its presence. It was, after all, the last light he would see until his trial. And that, as Crouch had so generously informed him, might be months away.

Severus shivered. It seemed likely he might freeze to death before they even got to Azkaban, let alone once he was inside its merciless walls. With the Dementors sucking every trace of hope out of him, it was easy to believe he wouldn't live that long.

But the Dementors would want him to make it to Azkaban, he realized. They would want him without the Auror's Patronus so near.

He shuddered, gritting his teeth. He tried to Occlude, but though it kept him in the present, that was very little comfort. The charming domestic scenes of his childhood could hardly be worse than what awaited him ahead.

His thoughts flashed to all that he had read about Azkaban and the Dark wizard Ekrizdis who had, rumor had it, allowed the Dementors into this world. From where, no one knew, though Ekrizdis had written often of the gates of reality, of the ebb and swell of possibilities throbbing within the very fabric of existence, of someplace else, someplace outside, someplace beyond the universe they knew. _The Enigma of Ekrizdis_ had long been one of his favorite books - the irony of that struck him bleakly, now - with its poetic theories and philosophies, its tantalizing glimpses of the mysteries Ekrizdis had sought to unlock. Dark mysteries, of course. Dark theories. Under other circumstances, Severus might have been exhilarated by the prospect of seeing Azkaban.

Circumstances which involved Patronuses, chocolate, and an unexpected holiday for all the Dementors.

 _In my hunger, I sought to consume souls,_ Ekrizdis had written, _but my hunger has only awoken a greater hunger, deeper and emptier than the starving torment of the skies. I can only watch, in jealousy and despair, as they feast on what I cannot taste._

The words, so intriguing from the comfort of his bed, left him hunched over and trembling now, clutching at his chest as if to guard the precious, wretched thing inside. The prospect of a vast and insatiable hunger was much less interesting when he was doomed to be the meal.

The wind's howl had changed in pitch, deepening to a hateful roar that crashed against their vessel and raised waves even taller than Savage to bare their foamy fangs at the shuddering boat. Severus thought he saw creatures slithering in the swell of the waves, but it was only the Dementors' shadows, sliding darkly from the air to stain everything.

The tiger Patronus leaped over the waves with massive grace, its witch bearing the wild seas with perfect indifference. Her gaze never strayed from the gloom ahead, and Severus remembered that she had lost friends in the manor, or at least colleagues. She had been spattered with blood when Crouch had first ordered her to escort them to Azkaban. Severus wondered how much comfort her Patronus was, really, and whether she hated him for the involuntary role he had played in Malfoy's trap.

He could still see the bullying Auror's face as blood gurgled out of his mouth, as life left his eyes forever. Severus had been near death so many times, he had almost forgotten that he had never seen it himself. And this - he had _caused_ it, involuntarily or not.

After the hours of lying powerless on the floor, paralyzed and facing death, Severus's mind had been vulnerable, almost indefensible against the Imperius Curse cast by the stronger man. He might as well have been the pitiful house-elf, so helplessly had he submitted to Lucius's commands. Severus shrank from the memory, from his own weakness. How many times, over the years, had he promised himself he would never be weak again? First with his father, then with Potter and his useless maggot friends, and yet still here he was, _weak._

Azkaban would only make him weaker.

Something changed in Savage's expression, perhaps something as subtle as the tilt of her jaw, but Severus saw it. With a heavy feeling of dread, he turned to peer ahead again, his eyes struggling against the gloom after the lingering brightness of Savage's magnificent Patronus.

But there - was that it? That shadow - that sharpness -

Severus sucked in a hopeless breath, shaking violently. For a moment, his Occlumency shields failed, and the silhouette of Hogwarts flashed across his mind, so beloved and yet so despised, as he dangled upside down, completely naked, the word _Mudblood_ still echoing in his mind.

He forced himself back to the present, clearing his mind though it raged like the gray sea beneath him. Azkaban was cold, and stark, and dreadful. It was beautiful in its cruelty. The mist broke on its ancient walls like desperate fingers clawing at the sheer face of a cliff, gripping tighter where the black windows opened to the gray night, sliding helplessly into the waves where they frothed futilely on the rocks below.

For a moment, his shields holding strong, Severus was struck by its majesty, barren and unforgiving above the struggling sea. This, he thought, _this_ was what wizards could accomplish, the greatness and invincibility they had sacrificed so that Muggles would forget their existence. Yet magic was not meant to be forgettable, limited. It was meant to outlast the tides of war and violence, the raging tumult of the earth, the very floods of time. It was the power that held the universe together. It was the power that could tear it apart.

Elated, Severus turned his face up to the seething wind and frozen mist, reveling in the cold, the taste of salt and night, the terror of the Dementors and the starving torment of the skies beyond. He was a wizard, even without his wand. He was powerful. He was dark.

Then his shields cracked, and the triumph spilled out of him like blood, leaving him gasping and hollow, digging his fingers into his own flesh to stop the leak of something deeper than skin and bone, and infinitely more valuable.

Above him, the Dementors hovered with mocking grace, the shadows beneath their hoods full of malice.

 _We are powerful,_ they seemed to whisper. _We are dark._ _You are soft and sweet. We will devour you._

Severus bent his head over his knees, cringing and clenching his teeth against the cries that longed to escape. In the back of his mind, a childish voice begged, _I want to go home._

But home was meaningless. The house in Spinner's End had never been a home. Hogwarts, for all its enchantment, had never been a home, not with Potter and his friends hunting him down every day for seven years. He had no home. He had nowhere to go.

Nowhere but Azkaban.

Savage had to drag the Malfoys out of the boat, hauling them up on the rocks and leaving them in a crumpled heap, begging and moaning. Severus flinched from her touch when she gripped his arm, then leaned into it - the last human touch he might ever feel.

She noticed. Rather than jerking him roughly as she had the Malfoys, she looked directly into his eyes, the blue of her irises faded to a dreadful gray in the gloom. He clung to her gaze in desperation, unable to speak, unable to stop himself from grabbing the wrist of the hand that gripped him, from seeking some other trace of humanity, even if it was only the cold pulse in her veins.

"A few months," she muttered. "That's all it'll be, Snape. You can make it that long."

Her words filled him with a mingling of despair and hope that writhed against the edges of his being. He felt the hope slip from him, into the hooded maws of the Dementors. The despair remained.

Savage was almost gentle as she pulled him up onto the rocks, her boots crunching firmly over barnacles while his scraped and stumbled behind her. He didn't collapse like the Malfoys, but stood shivering, feeling the full extent of his thinness as the wind ripped through his black robes and into his aching bones. The cracks in his ribs seemed to shriek in a blast of agony, the cuts on his face searing in the salty air, but he refused to curl up in a pathetic sodden lump like the Malfoys had. Even now, Savage was dragging them to their feet, with the threat that the Dementors would help them stand if they couldn't manage it themselves.

Narcissa did; Lucius didn't. Severus watched in numb horror as a glistening gray hand slid from within a ragged sleeve to clutch Lucius by the front of his robes. Lucius let out a wail of misery and fear, struggling to get his feet under him. Narcissa took a step toward him, as if to support his weight, but the sight of the Dementor seemed to freeze her in place.

Savage flicked her wand at her Patronus, watched it pad across the air to the stone walkway in front of her, and gave the prisoners a look. "Follow."

Narcissa staggered after the tiger, almost running in her eagerness to reach its light. Severus, not wanting Lucius behind him, waited for the Dementor to release him, and for him to scramble, sobbing and gulping, after his wife. Severus met Savage's gaze again, and felt a sob of his own rise in his throat when she gripped his arm and pulled him along beside her.

He didn't think he had ever treasured anyone's touch as much as he did this, not even Lily's.

The walkway before them was smooth stone, stained with sea scum and crumbling barnacles. The Dementors followed them closely, and Savage, with her Patronus so far ahead, began to shiver, though her grip on Severus's arm never wavered. She towered as tall as any of the Dementors, and though their cold crept toward her, Severus could see that the creatures themselves were keeping their distance.

He wished, for a feverish moment, that she would set her tiger on them all.

Jagged gates jutted from the rock ahead of them, guarded by Dementors that glided aside at the tiger's approach. It paused at the gate, glancing back at its witch, while the Malfoys huddled as close to its silver light as they dared.

Savage did not pause at the gates. With a flick of her wand, she pulled her Patronus back toward herself, filling Severus with a glow of such relief and hope he actually sobbed. Savage tactfully ignored it, her gaze fixed on the Malfoys, who moaned as the Dementors approached, stumbling backward toward Savage, who snapped, "Keep going!"

The Malfoys, unprotected now, grasped at each other as they inched forward up the craggy stairs, driven along by Savage's wand and the threat of Dementors to either side. Severus, shielded for a moment from his mind-shattering despair, gazed up at the fortress in awe.

Its icy black walls lunged from the rock to the sky, unstoppable in their power, indestructible as the night. Windows gaped in the stone, full of crooked bars that gleamed like fangs. No light escaped the fortress. Somewhere high above, Severus could hear a desolate cry.

"Better without a window," Savage told him quietly. "The ones with windows always go mad first."

"Why?" Severus asked through cold lips.

Savage gave him a grim look. "Too easy to think of jumping."

Severus looked up at the windows again. It would be impossible to jump through those bars. But the temptation… Yes, he could see how the temptation would gnaw away at the mind. Had he not considered it himself, uncontrollably, as he lay there paralyzed?

Had that really only been this afternoon?

The Malfoys were crawling up the steps now, scraping their hands on the rough rock, bent to their knees by horror. Ahead, Severus could see the entry, and even with Savage's Patronus shining brightly beside him, he felt a lurch of dread at the sight.

There was no door. Only darkness, impenetrable and sharp with malice.

"In," Savage commanded, and the Malfoys began to beg.

"I'll give you anything…" Lucius began.

"Please," Narcissa sobbed.

"... riches, power…"

" _Please!_ "

"... beauty…"

Savage snorted. Turning toward the Dementors waiting beside them, she said, "Take them."

Severus watched with an uneven heartbeat as the Dementors descended on the pitiful figures before him, pulling them almost tenderly to their feet before dragging them through the dark doorway and into the blackness beyond.

"Come," Savage said to Severus, not gently, but not harshly, either.

Severus hesitated, and she took hold of his arm again, which had been his intent. He might have been ashamed of his ridiculous dependence on her presence, if the awareness of her approaching abandonment were not so sharp in his mind.

She propelled him through the entryway, into a narrow passage lit only by the glow of her Patronus. Jutting slate and slime laced with frost gleamed as they passed, while Dementors shied back into the shadows.

At the end of the passageway, they found a room, its walls broken in every direction by gaping, doorless openings, through which Severus could see more passageways, some leading up, some down, some straight ahead.

Savage led him to one of the stairways spiraling downward, nudging him ahead of her so they could descend single file down the narrow steps. The loss of her touch on his arm made him shiver, and the sound of moans almost made him stop in his tracks. Fingernails scraped against bars as prisoners on every side flung themselves forward to see the Patronus, begging and sobbing as the Malfoys had.

"Please stay…"

"Let me out!"

"... so beautiful…"

Savage nudged Severus again, and he quickened his pace, stepping jerkily down the stairs until the cries stopped, and only silence surrounded them. The cold was terrible, but there were no Dementors here. In the cells to either side, Severus watched the Patronus's light shift over figures that didn't move.

"Are they dead?" he asked hoarsely.

"Sleeping," Savage replied. "The Dementors don't come here as often."

Severus felt his throat constrict at this unexpected kindness, this tiny mercy she was offering him. Sleep - he could survive these months, if he could just sleep through them.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Savage nodded, touching him on the shoulder to bring him to a stop. "Here," she said unnecessarily. He could see the open door; it was the first vacant cell they had come to.

Severus was trembling, but he managed to enter the cell without begging. He turned to watch Savage lock the cell with a key she took from a chain around her neck. The click of the lock was lost beneath the pounding of his heart.

She gave him one last look, her eyes blue again in the light of her Patronus. He tried to hold on to the color, but she turned away, the tiger following, and everything around him faded to black.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Savage slumped into the too-small chair at her desk, scowled, and cast an Engorgement Charm to return it to her preferred size. The chair groaned slightly in protest, and she kicked it, muttering, "Shut up, you," before turning her dour face toward Moody. "It's done."

Moody, who had glanced up at her arrival only to look back down at the scroll in front of him, grunted.

"I put Snape in the west dungeon," she continued.

Moody, who was busy counting, waited till he had finished before saying, "Nice of you."

"Too nice," Robards said, glancing up from a box of charred objects to frown at her. If he had been responsible for shrinking her chair, his expression didn't show it. "Guilty until proven innocent, Savage."

Moody snorted. Robards, the descendant of a long line of Aurors, had a rather different idea of justice than Savage, whose father had been a Muggle, and a judge at that. They were his two most competent colleagues, Robards' skill with a wand compensating for his unyielding opinions and general inflexibility, Savage's brute strength and unflinching determination tempered by a tenderness that, Moody privately thought but would never have said, was unavoidably feminine.

Yet it was Robards whose eyes were red from crying. Savage had the cold, pale look of Azkaban, the emptiness that went beyond tears. Moody tossed her a chocolate.

Tapping the scroll in front of him, he growled, "I've got the last one thousand spells cast with Lucius Malfoy's wand. Want to guess how many of 'em were Imperius Curses?"

Savage and Robards arched their brows in interest, not so weary or grieved that they weren't hungry to move forward with the case.

"Seventy-nine," Moody growled.

Robards whistled. Savage scowled. "Seventy-nine life sentences in Azkaban," she stated. "Plus five more for murder."

Moody grimaced. "You can add another seven to that," he said. "Seven _Avada Kedavras_ on the list. And thirty-three Cruciatus Curses."

"Merlin's bollocks," Robards muttered. "That's - what, more than a hundred Unforgivables? Just in the last thousand spells?"

Moody nodded. "Guess how many on Snape's wand?"

Savage looked apprehensive, Robards eager.

"None."

"What!" Robards exclaimed, outraged.

"We went back two thousand spells just to be sure. Kid's clean," Moody said. "And judging by Malfoy's wand, the bastard cast the Imperius on him at least once. It's the last spell before his little duel with me, and there's another right after his duel with Snape."

Robards looked severely disappointed. Savage looked satisfied.

"He's a strange boy," she commented.

Robards snorted. "He's a little wannabe Death Eater, is what he is." He pulled a halfway incinerated book out of the box in front of him. " _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ " He dropped it on the desk and followed it with another. " _Dark Diaries: The Hidden Forces of Herpo the Foul._ " He grabbed a handful of singed pages. " _Moste Potente Potions."_ Another charred volume. " _The Enigma of Ekrizdis._ How much Darker can you get?"

He slammed the final book on the desk and they watched it burst apart in a shower of burnt paper and ash.

"Careful!" Moody barked. "That's evidence!"

"That Snape's a slimy little rodent," Robards retorted.

Moody shrugged. He couldn't say he was particularly enamored of the boy, but his resistance to Malfoy's Imperius Curse had impressed him. And, more importantly, the boy had committed no crime that they knew of. Possession of Dark Arts texts was questionable, of course, but none of the volumes Robards had found were illegal - yet.

"He knows Occlumency," Savage remarked, sliding the paperwork for Snape's and the Malfoys' incarcerations onto her desk and beginning to fill out the forms. "He resisted the Dementors' effects more than most could have."

Well, now, Moody thought. That _was_ interesting.

" _Why_ are you defending him?" Robards said, glaring at Savage.

She looked mildly surprised. "I stated a fact."

"You were impressed."

"Occlumency is an impressive skill."

"And unusual in a kid," Moody added.

Robards rubbed his beard, shaking his head at them both. "Well, I hope he rots," he muttered. "Let him out and he'll just skip over to You-Know-Who -"

"Unlikely," Moody snorted. "He told the Evans girl he'd never join him."

Robards snorted right back. "Of course, because we're all so honest with the girls we fancy."

Savage arched her eyebrows at him. Robards rolled his eyes. "Mark my words, the little snake'll come back to bite you." He tossed the burned books back into the box with little regard for preserving their integrity. "I've got to drop these in Evidence. Try not to fall in love with any other Death Eaters while I'm gone."

Savage waited till he was out of earshot to ask, "Any way of speeding up the trial? If the wands clear him -"

"Crouch won't allow it," Moody said in a low voice. "Snape's been on our list for too long, he's been seen with Malfoy a dozen times at least during our surveillance. There'll be a trial, but Crouch isn't making it a priority." Moody didn't add that by delaying, Crouch was ensuring Snape would be in violation of the marriage law by the time he was released. He'd have a week, at most, to find a wife. If he failed, it was straight back to Azkaban. Moody suspected Crouch was counting on that.

"Pity," Savage said, scratching her quill across the paperwork. "He seemed like a brave boy."

* * *

"He's a spineless little cockroach!" Sirius said, pacing. "Hiding behind the Imperius Curse! As if anyone would believe -"

"Moody does," Frank said, standing stiffly against one wall of the parlor and eyeing Sirius with flat disapproval.

"Moody could be wrong," James countered.

"Say that to my face, Potter," Moody growled, appearing in the doorway behind them.

James flushed, as did Sirius. Lily felt a little sorry for both of them, but turned her full attention to Moody. "Is it true they took him to Azkaban?"

"Yep." Moody's gaze swept the room, taking in the other Order members. There were fewer tonight than usual; aside from Lily and the Marauders, only Frank Longbottom, Fabian Prewett, and Aberforth Dumbledore were there. The marriage law had affected almost everyone, and most were scrambling to do what James and Lily had already managed - get engaged.

Moody frowned. "Dumbledore's not here yet?"

"Of course I am. This is my pub," Aberforth said, scowling.

"You know what I mean," Moody growled.

The upstairs parlor of the Hog's Head had been serving as one of the Order's many meeting places, and Lily had no qualms in admitting that it was her least favorite by far. More often, they met in the homes of Order members, but sometimes - especially when Dumbledore was especially busy with matters at Hogwarts - they ended up gathering in Hogsmeade instead.

Tonight, however, Lily was less concerned with the dingy locale and more worried about Severus. "How could you let him take them? If you think he's innocent?"

Moody snorted. "Haven't you been listening, Evans? Crouch's head of the department now, there's no standing in his way. Snape's lucky to be getting a trial; most don't, these days."

"And you really think he's innocent?" Sirius asked, disgusted.

"Malfoy used the Imperius on him, there's no doubt about it."

"Damn," Sirius muttered.

James looked just as disappointed, but with a wary look at Lily, said, "How long until his trial?"

"A few months."

"A few _months?_ " Lily echoed, aghast.

Moody shrugged, but she could see the grim look in his eyes. "Best we could do."

"Serves him right," Sirius muttered, "for even _thinking_ about joining them! Filthy git should've known better."

"Maybe it'll teach him a lesson," Peter agreed, with a nervous look at Lily.

Moody shrugged. "Nothing to be done about it now. Although -"

A knock at the door cut him off. They all recognized it - there was a certain chipper sound to Dumbledore's knocks, even on the grimmest days. And this, sadly, was not the grimmest day they had seen.

Dumbledore strode into the room, resplendent in sapphire robes with shimmering stars. The man's fashion sense was eye-boggling, and Lily couldn't help smiling at the sight of him, despite everything.

"Good evening," he said calmly, his gaze turning almost at once to Moody. "Alastor, perhaps you could bring me up to speed. I am afraid Hogwarts business has claimed my attention all day…"

Moody's summary was succinct, as always. They all sat with heads bowed in a brief moment of silence for the five Aurors dead, Dawlish, Proudfoot, Drake, Howarth, and Bell. Lily had met them all, and felt tears sting her eyes, though she hadn't really known or even liked them. It was just awful, to think of how easily the Death Eaters could murder. Awful to think that it could be James, or Sirius, or Alice or Mary. It could be anyone.

"Of course," Moody said, looking at Frank, "this means we'll be speeding up your training. Alice's, too. All the trainees."

"I understand," Frank said in his quiet, calm way. He didn't seem excited or eager, as James or Sirius might have done. Lily could never understand him. Sometimes he seemed so _old._

"We might be able to get an exemption for Alice," Moody said, "as far as the marriage law is concerned. Savage applied for one today, and Crouch got the Minister to grant it. Can't have one of our best Aurors out of the field for a year or more, not in the middle of a war. Might be harder with a trainee, but we're in bad shape. Just lost a quarter of the force."

Fabian Prewett snorted. "Start telling people they'll get exemptions from this damned law, and you'll get more recruits than you can handle."

"I'd sign up, for an exemption," Sirius said, eyeing Moody hopefully.

Moody shook his head. "No exemptions for wizards," he said. "Witches only. Unless you think you can get pregnant for nine months?"

"I think that would defeat the purpose," Sirius muttered.

"Come on, Padfoot, it's not that bad," James said, grinning. "I could name a dozen girls who would just _love_ it if you asked them -"

"Please don't," Sirius said darkly. "I've already gotten seven proposals by owl -"

"Then you've got nothing to worry -"

"You wouldn't say that if you'd read the letters!"

"I would be _happy_ to read the letters, Padfoot, really, it would be no trouble at _all._ "

"Yes, Black, show us the letters," Fabian said, scowling. "Show us how unfortunate it is to be showered with marriage proposals."

"Seriously, mate," Sirius said, "you wouldn't want any of these. The letters are covered in all these little pink hearts -"

James sniggered.

"- one of them smells like Amortentia -"

"Are you sure it wasn't just dog biscuits?"

"- and one of them sent a photo -"

"Don't be _mean,_ Sirius!" Lily exclaimed.

" - there were seven cats! Seven! Just in the one picture! And she named them all _Black!_ "

"You don't mean -"

"Sassy Black! Missy Black! Pussy Black!"

" _Pussy_ Black?"

"Can you imagine?" Sirius looked genuinely distraught. "Living with that?"

"Well, all right, but maybe one of the others - with the little pink hearts -"

Sirius groaned. Even Lily had to giggle a little. "It'll work out, Sirius. I'm sure you'll find someone." She looked at Fabian, whose red hair and sort of lumpy face were not prepossessing. "And you, too, Fabian, I'm sure it'll work out -"

"The Ministry will work it out," Fabian said flatly. "With their damned lottery or whatever they're calling it."

"Random spousal assignment," Moody growled. "And I wouldn't make light of it if I were you, Potter. Black might be fine, but most won't. No one expects to have to find a spouse in a single month."

"I wasn't trying to make light -" James started, looking guilty, at the same moment Sirius sneered, "Bet Snape won't -"

James's contrition was rather spoiled when he dissolved into sniggers. Lily's frown stopped him immediately.

"He won't have to worry about it yet, will he?" James asked, trying to look concerned and failing miserably.

"He'll be nineteen in January," Moody growled. "If his trial's more than a month after that, he'll be in violation."

"But that's not fair!" Lily exclaimed. "If he doesn't have a chance to look -"

"Lily," Sirius said seriously, "do you _really_ think he'd find anyone? Even if he had _years_ to look? I know you're in the middle of some kind of nostalgic crisis, but _really._ This is _Snape._ Most girls would rather marry the giant squid than him, and I think that includes you."

Lily opened her mouth, shut it, then flushed. "I don't think that's a very nice thought, Sirius."

"Snape might not be much to look at, but he's a sharp kid," Moody said, turning a half-curious, half-censuring look at Dumbledore. "I'm surprised you didn't try to recruit him."

Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised at this, and Sirius burst out, "You're kidding! Recruit _Snape?_ He's been practically bathing in the Dark Arts for years! Probably sleeps with books of curses under his greasy pillow!"

Peter giggled. Frank said coolly, "I'm sure he did, at Hogwarts."

There was a short, awkward silence. If Alice had been there, she would have given Frank one of her looks, but she was helping Mary plan her wedding; a nice Hufflepuff boy named Riley Quitterditz had proposed to Mary just this afternoon, and as Mary was already nineteen, there wasn't much time to waste.

In Alice's absence, Lily shot Frank a similar sort of glare, to absolutely no effect.

"Severus Snape never struck me as an appropriate recruit for this organization," Dumbledore said, still surveying Moody with some surprise. "His interest in the Dark Arts, his prejudice against Muggles, and his eagerness to undermine his fellow students as well as his teachers have made it clear that his temperament is neither compassionate nor ethical enough to earn him my trust or respect."

Though Lily's own feelings for Severus were still severely mixed, she couldn't help flinching a little on his behalf. James and Sirius, of course, looked like Christmas had come early, and Peter was gaping at Dumbledore with open-mouthed delight. Even Frank and Remus didn't object to this description, though Frank's expression, as usual, was difficult to read.

Moody just shrugged. "You're lucky he didn't join the Death Eaters."

Sirius looked triumphant. "So you admit he might have?"

Moody gave him a dark look. "They wanted him."

Lily felt an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. She remembered well how horrified she had been when a Death Eater - she had never learned his name, or even seen his face - had cornered her one evening while she was out doing the shopping to ask if she would join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She had blurted out "no" before she had even thought through the consequences, but the Death Eater had just told her she would regret it before Apparating away. No one had ever come looking for her. James had had a similar experience only a week later, but again, they had left him alone after he refused.

How much more must they have wanted Severus, to follow him to his house and take him by force? What on earth had he done, to make them react that way?

A strange nervous shiver filled her belly. Had it been because of _her?_

She tried to imagine how he might have reacted to being offered her as a wife. But the entire idea was so laughable, and so disgusting - _her_ married to _him!_ Yes, they had been friends once, but she had never looked at him like _that._ He was too - well, too ugly, too creepy. After James's stupid prank with his shampoo at the beginning of second year, he always insisted on washing his hair with soap - _soap!_ \- and then there were his teeth, and his nose, and -

She shook herself. There was no point in dissecting his appearance. He had been an interesting enough friend, when she had first come to Hogwarts, but then he had grown older and weirder and darker and James, silly James, had grown into the handsome, funny boy she was going to marry.

Of course, she had known Severus fancied her. That had been obvious from the start, or at least Petunia had always said it was. It hadn't taken too long before Lily had seen it, too, even without Tuney teasing her about the desperate way he looked at her or the eager way he gave in to her every whim.

So, naturally, she would have thought that if he had the chance to marry her, he would… well… take it. Especially considering how few other options he had. If any.

But that was vain of her, wasn't it? To think that Severus would do anything - even something as horrible as accepting her from the Death Eaters - just because he wanted her.

But had he been tempted? It was hard to say. He was so dark now, it was easy to think he could be as nasty as Mulciber or Avery or one of the others. He had been friends with Wilkes, too, and all the Order's information suggested that Wilkes was already a Death Eater, that he had, in fact, already participated in at least one Death Eater raid at a Muggle house. Severus was friends with murderers. Was it really so wrong of her to think he might be one of them?

Even Dumbledore thought he was bad.

She couldn't deny that there was a part of her - a not very nice part - that thought a little time in Azkaban might do him some good. It was like Peter had said - maybe it would teach him a lesson. Maybe he would think twice before messing with the Dark Arts again.

"Severus Snape," Dumbledore said, "is out of our hands, for now. I am more concerned with the Malfoys - were you able to link them to any other Death Eaters?"

Moody shook his head. "Not yet. There's a bunch of Dark stuff in that house - pardon me, _manor_. It'll take some time to sort through. But from all the curses on Malfoy's wand, I'd say he was doing some serious work for Voldemort."

Peter cringed at the name, but no one else did. James looked surprised. "Didn't you ask him? I mean, interrogate him?"

Moody gave them all a very unnerving smile. "We'll wait a few days. Let him stew in Azkaban. That always loosens their tongues."

"Won't he try to make a deal?" Sirius asked. "I remember him from when we were first years. He was Head Boy, and he was a slimy git. Always slithering his way out of things."

"He won't slither out of murdering those Aurors," Moody growled. "But we might offer to spare him from the Dementor's Kiss… let his slimy soul keep existing in his miserable chest."

Lily thought of the Aurors again, and couldn't help glancing at Frank, who had known them far better. If he had been friends with them, he didn't show it. But then, he wasn't really close friends with anyone, as far as she knew. He just loved Alice.

"What about the house-elf?" Sirius asked. "The one who… did it. What are you going to do with it?"

"He's in a holding cell at the Ministry," Moody said. "Very distraught, that one. Keeps trying to tell us what happened, but of course he can't say what Malfoy's told him not to -"

"He's trying to help?" Sirius asked, sounding shocked.

"Yep. Strange little thing. We've had to put Cushioning Charms on all the walls and the floor so he won't bash his brains out."

Lily flinched. She didn't know much about house-elves, but Sirius had told her about Kreacher and how unpleasant he was. She didn't know what to think of the Malfoys' elf.

"Couldn't he still be dangerous?" she asked, feeling a little nervous asking the question. There was still so much she didn't know about this world.

"Could be," Moody said, even as Sirius and James both snorted. Moody narrowed his eyes at them. "I wouldn't dismiss it so easily, if I were you!" he barked. "Wizards better'n you've been killed by house-elves."

"Like the Aurors," Peter chipped in. "Shouldn't you - well - put him down?"

"Some of the Aurors certainly think so," Moody said. "They were ready to haul him over to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and have his head chopped off. But they can't, he's not legally responsible. There's plenty of precedent, of course, for house-elves who're ordered to commit murder."

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "And Voldemort is no stranger to the misuse of elves."

Everyone looked at him expectantly, but he only sighed and changed the subject. "This will not be regarded as a triumph for the Ministry, with five Aurors dead. No doubt Lucius Malfoy's actions will please Voldemort, despite his capture. He may well attempt to free Lucius. We know he has begun to make overtures to the Dementors…"

"But you said you didn't think they would accept," James said quickly. "At least not for a while."

Dumbledore nodded. "The Dementors are not creatures of this world. They submitted to the Ministry most unwillingly, after Ekrizdis's fortress was discovered. They will not be quick to ally themselves with another wizard, no matter what he promises. After all, in their eyes - or what passes for eyes, for they have none - we are little more than a source of nourishment. We are not their equals."

"What do you mean, they're 'not creatures of this world'?" James asked, frowning.

Moody huffed in hollow amusement. "Snape could've answered that. He had a copy of _The Enigma of Ekrizdis_ in that trunk Malfoy set on fire."

"Well, seeing as I'm not a Dark wizard -" James grumbled, scowling.

"The Dark wizard Ekrizdis," Dumbledore said, "inhabited Azkaban six centuries ago."

"He _lived_ there?"

"He was responsible, among many other vile things, for introducing Dementors to our world."

"You keep saying that," Sirius interrupted. "Like they came from somewhere else."

"That is one of the prevailing theories," Dumbledore said, to general astonishment. "The other theory being, of course, that he created them."

" _Why?_ " Lily asked, horrified.

"Ekrizdis wished to transcend the boundaries of our existence," Dumbledore said. "He believed - as many wizards have believed - that magic can unlock every mystery in the universe. Life and death, time and space, spirit and matter, he experimented with them all. His deepest interest, however, lay in the destruction and creation of souls. Some speculate that he created Dementors to help him in these experiments, or that they were an accidental byproduct of an experiment gone wrong. Both are possible, of course, however… I think the other theory to be more likely."

"That they came from somewhere else?"

"Yes."

Aberforth made a scoffing noise. "Sounds like a load of hogwash. Magical philosophers - useless, the lot of them." He gave Dumbledore a particularly unpleasant look at this.

Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "The field does have its flaws, yes."

"Can you please explain what you mean by somewhere _else?_ " James said. "Where else would there be?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes were unusually bright. "Ekrizdis wrote often of the 'gates of reality.' What he meant by that has never been understood. Yet it is believed by many - myself included - that he found a way to breach the fabric of our universe."

The others gaped at him. Moody chuckled at their expressions.

"So," Lily said, "he let them in from - from outside of our universe?"

"I think that seems likely," Dumbledore said, as calmly as if they were discussing the weather.

"But what's outside?" James asked.

"Hell?" Lily suggested, remembering her Christian upbringing.

Dumbledore gave her a slightly pitying look. "I think not. Although the Dementors would certainly fit in with that mythology…" He sighed again. "But I think," he said with sudden decisiveness, "that another dimension may be more likely. Or, perhaps, another universe entirely."

Lily tried to imagine it. It must be a horrible place, if Dementors came from there. She couldn't imagine why anyone, even someone as obviously disturbed as Ekrizdis, would want to access such a place.

Dumbledore smiled suddenly. "But it is _very_ unlikely," he said, twinkling, "that any of us will ever encounter such a place. At least not in this lifetime. Ekrizdis left no hints whatsoever as to how he accomplished his breach, and to my knowledge no one alive is researching the subject. It is simply one of the curious mysteries of the endlessly wondrous and surprising universe we inhabit."

There was a relieved murmur at these words. Frank, however, looked intensely fascinated.

"The gates of reality," he echoed. "A gate to another world…"


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: For readers of my story "The Cactus and the Toad," this is where your sequel starts. For everyone else - it will still make sense! The events of "The Cactus and the Toad" are briefly summarized over the next two chapters (so spoiler alert!), and of course you can also read the full story if you are so inclined. For context, we are entering an alternate reality set after _Deathly Hallows,_ where the worst of the post-war problems have been solved.

As always, thank you for reading!

* * *

9

Hermione Granger didn't often cast frivolous spells, but she had discovered (to her simultaneous confusion and pride) that she had quite the knack for them. As she stood in the sitting room of the Longbottoms' cottage, she couldn't help feeling pleased with the subtlety of the silver lanterns dangling on strings from the ceiling, with the subdued yet sharply masculine banner above the doorway, and, perhaps most of all, with the dark, sleek Black Forest cake, which, after extensive interrogations of the Hogwarts house-elves, Hermione had determined to be Professor Snape's favorite.

No, not _Professor_ Snape, she corrected herself. Snape. Just Snape. He had not been a professor for more than eight months now, not since the Battle of Hogwarts last May. Headmistress McGonagall had offered to let him return to Hogwarts and teach, of course, but Hermione strongly suspected Snape had laughed in her face. After surviving Nagini's bite, he had no doubt felt that he had more to offer the world than teaching ungrateful little brats how not to poison themselves.

And, indeed, he did. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, while the rest of them had still been picking up the pieces (and while she had been in Australia recovering her parents and their memories), Snape had snuck into the Spell Damage Ward of Saint Mungo's and spent weeks reconstructing the Longbottoms' ravaged minds. Of course, not all of the damage could be healed. Their torture, the loss of nearly twenty years of their lives, and, most painful of all, the grief of having missed their son's childhood had affected them both deeply.

Still, months had passed. Frank had made great progress overcoming his difficulties with speech, and Alice's hair was almost entirely blond again, with only a few stubborn wisps of white clinging to her temples. The Nourishing Draught Snape had been brewing for them both, tailored specifically to their needs, had worked miracles, and even Alice, who still didn't entirely like Snape, had showered a few dozen thanks on him for that.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her from sabotaging Hermione's decorating efforts. Alice, Hermione knew, was better at this sort of thing than she would ever be, but when Hermione had arrived at the cottage two hours early to prepare for the party, she had walked in to find live bats swooping overhead, dramatic cobwebs draped over every visible article of furniture, lanterns in the shape of skulls, and even, she thought, a fake tombstone tucked behind an armchair.

Hermione had banished the skulls, which glowed with a perverse (and horribly Death Eaterish) green light, with a sharp wave of her wand that left a crackle of angry magic in the air, and rounded on Alice with a glower. "It's not Halloween! It's his birthday!"

"You'd think every day was Halloween, with the way he dresses," Alice had laughed. "You have to leave the bats, at least."

"We are _not -"_ Hermione had jabbed her wand at a bat and Vanished it, "- _leaving_ -" another jab - "a _single_ -" jab - " _ugly -_ " jab - " _bat!_ " With a final jab and wave, she Vanished the last of the hideous things. "Honestly, Alice!"

"Well, you invited an ugly bat, so -"

"He is not an ugly bat! It's his _birthday!"_

"Oh, I forgot. Everyone's beautiful on their birthday."

"Yes," Hermione had said fiercely, "they are. _And don't you forget it!_ "

Fortunately, after a few early attempts to disrupt the proceedings, Alice had given up on dictating the decor. Hermione added a few extra jinxes to deter anyone who tried to alter her work, then slumped into a chair.

"Oh," she remembered, turning around to survey the tombstone. Alice had spelled a nice obnoxious _Voldemort_ above the words "Rest in Pieces." Rolling her eyes, but smiling a little, Hermione Vanished it.

"Damn," Alice said, "I thought you'd miss that one."

"Afraid not." Hermione wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Really, Alice, you ought to _try_ to make him happy."

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm hosting the party, aren't I?"

"Hmph." Hermione _was_ glad Alice was hosting, of course - the flat Hermione had found last month when things at Grimmauld Place became too unbearable was hardly large enough for visitors - but Alice always made her a little nervous. Not because of her trauma or recovery, or because she was Neville's mum, but because, despite all Snape had done for her, she seemed to find it almost impossible to be nice to him.

"Ruffling his feathers," she called it. It was a game to her, the sort of game the younger Weasley boys would no doubt have enjoyed. In fact, Ron and George absolutely loved Alice, and even Harry, who no longer fantasized about murdering Snape, tended to laugh at some of her meaner jokes.

Neville and Frank didn't like it, and neither did Hermione. Her circle of acquaintance had been divided into two distinct groups: those who liked (or were learning to like) Snape, and those who spent hours every day thinking up ways to annoy him. Naturally, Hermione had invited as few of the latter category to the party as possible, but Alice, as the hostess, was a rather unavoidable guest.

Hermione only hoped she wouldn't do anything to offend Snape today.

It was to be a surprise party. Frank had invited Snape over for dinner - a fairly regular occurrence, these days - and given no indication that he knew or cared that it was Snape's birthday. Snape, to their relief, had accepted the dinner invitation without any signs of suspicion. Now if only everyone else had acted normal during their increasingly frequent interactions with the reclusive man, they might just succeed in surprising him.

The front door fell shut, and Frank came in from the cold, Vanishing the snow from his boots and cloak in a natural wizardly gesture that made Hermione blush. She had stomped her boots all over the doormat upon arrival. She could still see a few flecks of mud that had spattered the bottom of the door.

She'd have to fix that later, and hope nobody noticed.

Frank stepped into the sitting room and smiled. "Looks nice," he said. Taking care to enunciate each of the next words, which Hermione knew was still a challenge to him, he asked, "Did you make the cake?"

"Heavens no," she laughed. "My cooking is dreadful. Just ask Ron." She scowled. Ron had _not_ been invited. "Headmistress McGonagall lent me a few house-elves." That, too, made her scowl, but the elves had been so eager to help "Headmaster Snape," who had forbidden the Carrows from using them for Dark Arts demonstrations, that Hermione had ultimately concluded that, even if they were all free, they would have been happy to make the cake anyway.

And, really, it was a _perfect_ cake.

Still, it made her feel guilty. But the only other accomplished cook she knew was Mrs. Weasley, and telling Mrs. Weasley would have meant risking her sons finding out. And as the Weasleys were the last people Snape would be happy to see at his birthday party, that option had been out. She didn't want to think what kind of catastrophe George and Ron could initiate, and even Ginny couldn't be entirely trusted these days. In the wake of the war and the aftermath of hunting down the Lestrange brothers, the Weasleys seemed to feel that their next few years should be devoted wholly and exclusively to having fun.

Snape, in their minds, was a source of endless fun. Or, rather, an object.

The last straw for Hermione had been a few weeks ago, as they were all getting ready for Christmas. She had found Ron, George, and Ginny all huddled together in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, hotly debating which gift would upset Snape the most. George had wanted to test out his new product, Shameless Shampoo ("Shine and Shimmer After Every Shower!"), while Ron had been in favor of a Mean Mirror (one of Zonko's new products, which had flopped horribly in the cheer and goodwill following the war). Ginny had simply wanted to give him a pet bat.

Though Hermione had to admit that Snape had shown a much greater fondness for animals than any of them could possibly have expected when Harry, Ron, and Neville had anonymously gifted him with a Kneazle kitten last summer, she was certain that a bat would be less well received. And as for the others -

Well, the row had ended in her moving out.

Things with Ron, of course, had already been tense. He'd been angry with her for months, angry that she didn't want to pursue the kiss they'd shared in the heat of battle, and even angrier that she no longer seemed to trust him. (But really, how could she? He had left! In the middle of the war!) She knew Harry was relieved she had decided to move out. He was sad, of course, but the endless sniping and bickering had obviously been getting on his nerves.

So now she spent much of her time with Neville and his family, or - and this, probably, was what really bothered Ron the most - with Snape.

Researching.

She still felt a wild thrill when she thought about it.

Oh, he could be trying. He was impatient and condescending and incessantly insulting. But she had forced him to reconsider her potential. She could still remember, with relish, the look on his face when she had explained recent developments in the Muggle field of theoretical physics, particularly the implications of string theory, and then applied them - yes, _applied_ her vaunted intellect rather than simply _parroting,_ as he was endlessly accusing her - to their current research into the magical boundaries of reality. She had even convinced him to read a Muggle volume on science. The feeling of power that had filled her then had been breathtaking.

She was _changing Snape's mind._

Of course, he instantly tore half of string theory to shreds. The existence of magic severely impacted all Muggle research into the mysteries of the universe, which, naturally, was founded on many false conclusions. And Snape had been overwhelmingly contemptuous of the Muggle theories that souls did not exist. But the debates those theories had sparked - because Hermione, despite being well aware of the existence of souls, was still forced to defend the Muggle empirical perspective - had left them both breathless and exhilarated, angry and excited and thrilled all at once.

Hermione knew the bonds that had formed between her and Harry and Ron could never be broken, but talking to them just wasn't as interesting these days.

Bizarrely, it was Neville who understood her feelings the best. He had started a garden plot for Snape outside the Longbottoms' cottage, and the two wizards had engaged in many spirited discussions of the best planting practices. Professor Sprout, who was overseeing Neville's Herbology apprenticeship, had been roped in on numerous occasions to settle disputes. Unfailingly, she agreed with Neville, which everyone agreed was good for both wizards. Snape never seemed to take it ill, either. In fact, Neville had confided in Hermione that sometimes he thought Snape disagreed with him even when he knew Neville was right, simply for the pleasure of arguing with somebody.

Hermione privately suspected Snape was trying to improve Neville's confidence and skill, but she didn't say so. She didn't want to undermine Snape's efforts, especially when he had chided her more than once for the way she had always corrected Neville in school.

This afternoon, Neville was working in the greenhouses, but Professor Sprout, who would be acting headmistress while Professors McGonagall and Flitwick attended the party, had agreed to let him go home early today, and Hermione expected they would all be arriving at any moment.

She glanced anxiously at the clock. They were expecting Snape in half an hour. Snacks were ready, the cake was ready, the decorations had been fixed. That was everything, wasn't it? She hadn't forgotten anything or anyone?

"Relax," Frank said, watching her fidget. "He will be happy."

Hermione bit her lip. She hoped he would be. He had come such a long way from who he had been before the war ended, but she knew he was lonely. Sometimes, when they were reviewing their notes in silence in the coffeehouse near his flat, she would glance up to catch him eyeing the other patrons with a tired, wistful look on his face. Admittedly, that was better than the venomous bitterness he might have felt before, but there was something so weary about him now that made her uncomfortable.

She had seen the same look on Alice's face, once, when the edge of her mischievous facade had dropped. Hermione thought they really were alike, Alice and Snape, and Frank as well. The first war had frozen them all in place, just as it had frozen Sirius in Azkaban. Now the war was over, and Hermione suspected they were having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that their lives were _not_ over, that they were free.

Or maybe they weren't free, yet. She refused to believe that they would never be, but she thought perhaps they _did_ believe that. They _did_ believe it was over. They had lost their youth, their innocence, so many hopes and dreams, so many possibilities. How could they even begin to start over?

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes, and hastily stood up, pretending she needed the bathroom.

Alice's bathroom was a testament to what her decorating skills were like when she wasn't trying to be funny. It was green and yellow and peach, a little haven of spring that felt warm and airy when contrasted to the thickly falling snow outside. Hermione sat on the toilet lid and wiped her eyes and tried to tell herself not to be stupid, but it was hard to feel that she _was_ being stupid, after everything everyone had lost. It was at times like these when she wanted to go home - not her flat, _home_ \- and hug her parents and tell them yet again how sorry she was that she had sent them away, and how very, very much she loved them.

Sniffling, she wiped her eyes again, standing up to survey herself in the mirror. It sighed at her hair, but only said, "It'll be all right, dear, not to worry. There's no need to cry."

Hermione couldn't entirely agree with that sentiment, but she took a few deep breaths, waited for the worst of the blotches to fade from her cheeks, and went back to join the others.

Neville came in just as she was walking down the hall, followed by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. The teachers both waved their wands at their shoes, but Hermione was a little comforted to see that Neville stomped his feet just as she had.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, smiling until he caught sight of her face. Leaving the professors to his parents, who were welcoming them into the sitting room, he moved closer and murmured, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Hermione said, resisting the urge to cry again at his kind tone. "Just being silly."

Neville nodded seriously, patting her head - he was so _tall_ now - and saying, "It happens to me too, sometimes."

It was kind of him, it really was, but it didn't help Hermione at the moment. She burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, trying to stifle the noise so the adults wouldn't hear. "It just -"

"It's okay," Neville said, not panicking like Harry or Ron would have. "It'll pass in a minute."

It did. Hermione wiped her face on her sleeve. "I must look awful. I'm sure Snape will say something about it."

"Probably," Neville agreed. "But you know he won't really mean it."

Hermione nodded, sniffling. "It's bound to get better in a few years, don't you think?"

"Yes," Neville said with unusual decisiveness.

Hermione nodded again. "Well," she said, "I suppose there's nothing for it. We might as well go in."

Neville patted her on the head again, then led her into the sitting room. The professors obviously noticed her face, but wisely chose to comment on her decorating skills instead.

"Very tasteful," Professor McGonagall said.

"Very _Severus,_ " Professor Flitwick added, beaming at the blacks and silvers. "He really is very particular about colors, you know."

Alice snorted, but at a glance from Frank she chose not to say anything. It was just then that they heard a sharp knock.

Hermione's stomach gave a violent twist. Automatically, her eyes darted to the windows - had he seen anything? - but then she remembered that she had closed the curtains as soon as she arrived. There was no reason he should suspect anything.

Frank, with a smile at her, went to open the door. The rest of them stood in breathless anticipation, Hermione bouncing on her feet and sniffling one last time before the door opened.

Snape's gaze flew immediately to the banner hanging across the doorway to the sitting room, its silver letters proclaiming gracefully, _Happy Birthday!_ He then caught sight of the smiling faces in the room beyond.

"Surprise!"

Hermione was absolutely certain the shock on his face was not feigned.

"Happy birthday, my friend," Frank said, shaking his hand. Snape stared at him, looking a little wrong-footed. It took him several seconds longer than usual to reply, "Thank you… Frank."

Frank smiled and showed him in. Snape's gaze swept the room quickly, taking note of the guests, and Hermione thought she detected a trace of relief in his black eyes. She didn't need Legilimency to know who he had been hoping to avoid. After all, that was why she hadn't invited them.

She hung back as everyone hastened to offer their well wishes, hoping in vain that her face might miraculously lose all traces of her outburst. Then it was her turn, and of course the first thing out of his blasted mouth was, "Crying, Miss Granger? I'm certain you could have refused the invitation, had you wished."

Hermione bristled. He had informed her once that her hair swelled several inches upward when she did this, and, sure enough, his gaze flickered to the top of her head with a bright glint of amusement.

"For your information," she said, "this was _my_ idea!"

That clearly did not surprise him. He must have assumed that only she would have had the nerve.

"Another row with Mr. Weasley, then?"

Hermione huffed. Her tensions with Ron were unfortunately public knowledge by now. _Witch Weekly_ had run an article about it just the other day.

"Well," Snape said, smirking, "I see you at least had the good sense not to invite him."

She could sense the underlying question, and rolled her eyes. "I didn't invite him or Harry, of course. You don't have to worry about any of them. It's just us." She waved her hand at the assembled group.

Something relaxed in his shoulders, she was sure it did. She almost rolled her eyes again. Honestly, had he thought she would be so insensitive as to invite them?

But, as he seated himself in the chair she had occupied earlier, she couldn't help noticing the almost disbelieving way his gaze trailed over the decorations, the table of snacks, the towering cake. She wondered how long it had been since anyone had celebrated his birthday with him - if anyone ever had.

Oh, how she hated everyone he had ever known in that instant!

"Where's Fiend?" Neville asked.

Fiend was Snape's Kneazle, the kitten Neville, Harry, and Ron had left on Snape's doorstep last year. She was bright orange, like Crookshanks, but rather prettier, and quite a bit smaller, although that was changing all the time.

"I left her in the garden," Snape said. "I believe she caught sight of your toad…"

"Ha, ha," Neville said, rolling his eyes. "Trevor is right -" He cut off suddenly, having reached into his pocket only to come up empty. His eyes widened comically.

Snape smirked.

Neville grinned. "In his terrarium, where he belongs."

Snape patted a pocket, and Fiend's pointed ears emerged, along with a pair of bright golden eyes that peered over the rim of the pocket in excited curiosity. "What a surprise," Snape said. "I must not have left her outside after all."

Professor Flitwick, who had been standing on a chair to peer out the window with a concerned look on his face, emitted a wordless exclamation of relief and laughter.

"Really, Severus!" he said, chuckling.

Snape's smirk remained unapologetically in place. Fiend, obviously glad the trick was over, squeezed her way out of his pocket and hopped down from Snape's lap to sniff at everyone's feet.

Hermione, still a little closer to tears than she would have liked, felt a sharp pang of longing for Crookshanks. Her flat didn't allow cats, and, though Hermione was certain she could find a magical way around that, she had decided it was best to leave Crookshanks with her parents until she found an appropriate spell. Crookshanks, who was possibly even more annoyed than her parents to have been sent to Australia, seemed just a little bit too happy with the arrangement. She couldn't really blame him. After all, if she was allowed to hold a grudge against Ron, Crookshanks was certainly entitled to hold one against her. She was his human, his witch, his everything. And she had sent him away.

Hastily, Hermione bent down to cuddle with Fiend in an effort to hide her exasperating and completely inconvenient tears. She had tried so hard to keep her emotions under control during the war, but lately, now that everything was beginning to settle down, they just didn't seem willing to obey her anymore. She had even contemplated learning Occlumency, but Neville thought that might be unhealthy.

Considering Snape's emotional state, she thought he was probably right.

She had read about post-traumatic stress, of course. She could identify in herself as well as in others all the varying ways the symptoms were manifesting. She knew it was perfectly normal. But for _heaven's_ sake, did it have to happen in front of people? She had been emotional enough as a teenager. She was ready for it to _stop._

Fiend, nuzzling her adorable little nose up against Hermione's chin, really wasn't helping all that much. But at least Fiend wouldn't give her a pitying look. Indeed, she seemed rather curious about the salty water dripping down Hermione's face.

 _That's it,_ Hermione thought, _destroy the evidence._

Fiend obligingly licked her face, her rough little sandpaper tongue making Hermione cringe and huff in amusement at the same time.

"Enjoying yourself?" Snape asked.

Hermione didn't quite manage to look up at him, instead letting Fiend lick up the last of the tears. And, really, it was impossible to tell whether he was speaking to her or the Kneazle. He tended to speak to them both in precisely the same tone.

"Hermione's just worried you won't like the party," Alice said, with a mischievous tone in her voice. Hermione did look up at that, glaring at her.

Snape smirked. "Oh?"

"Of course," Alice said, grinning. "She wanted everything to be _perfect._ "

Snape snorted. "Miss Granger makes every effort to complete every task to perfection. It is one of her greatest flaws."

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Really, Severus. I seem to recall you expressing your gratitude on more than one occasion that Miss Granger had never blown anything up."

Neville blushed. Snape's lip curled. "Explosions originating from incompetence are inexcusable. But any decent potioneer knows that the occasional experimental explosion can be beneficial in the long term."

Hermione pursed her lips. Luna's mother had _died_ because of that attitude.

Then again, Hermione wasn't at all certain Luna's mother had been a _decent_ potioneer.

"I have never known Miss Granger to be afraid of experimenting," Professor Flitwick defended her. "Even you, Severus, can't deny that some of her Charms are most inventive!"

Snape scowled. "No. I do not deny it. I am merely observing that Miss Granger's willingness to take creative risks is confined to situations in which she feels herself to be in complete control."

"Shouldn't it be?" Hermione asked.

Snape gave her his best you-dunderhead look. He was obviously enjoying himself a great deal. "Miss Granger, you never undertake any task unless you are entirely certain you will succeed."

Hermione's jaw dropped in outrage. "No, never! Oh, except that one little time, when there was a _war!_ "

Snape arched a brow. "Very well, I misspoke. Allow me to clarify. You never undertake any task _for your own sake_ unless you are entirely certain you will succeed."

"The party wasn't for her own sake," Alice pointed out, "and she still wanted it to be _perfect._ "

Snape rolled his eyes. "I believe it _was_ for her sake. Out of a sense of obligation, and a general Gryffindor desire to do the right thing."

Hermione felt another flash of indignation. "You -" She couldn't think of a word that wouldn't violate her list of acceptable birthday insults.

Alice, however, was quite ready to pick up the slack. "I wouldn't be so sure, Snape. Before you got here, she said you were _beautiful._ "

Hermione was certain she must have turned bright red. Frank and Neville were looking at Alice with a mixture of displeasure and disappointment. Snape's face had gone entirely blank.

"Very amusing, Alice."

Alice studied his face for a moment, her eyes glittering as darkly as his usually did. Then, just as Hermione was certain she was going to say something nasty, she continued, "You _do_ have a very nice voice."

Snape stared at her.

"Don't you think so?" Alice asked the room at large.

"Oh, yes," Professor Flitwick said. "Quite enviable, I've always thought so."

Professor McGonagall looked like she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown. "It does have an impressive timber, Severus. And you use it to great effect."

Neville made a strangled noise at that, nodded fiercely, and mumbled, "Very intimidating."

Everyone chuckled, and Hermione thought that Snape, despite himself, seemed rather pleased.

"I also think," Alice said, "that you have very fine hands."

"I beg your pardon?" Snape practically choked, his voice for once failing him.

"They're quite beautiful," Alice added, a little pointedly. The others started to pick up on it, then.

"I've always rather liked your robes," McGonagall said, smiling slightly. "You always had quite the dramatic effect on the students, you know. I once heard a Muggleborn first year say you were the only professor who actually looked like a _real_ sorcerer."

"Then there's your eyebrow," Neville said. Snape arched said eyebrow incredulously. Neville grinned. "Yes, that - that eyebrow used to give me _nightmares._ "

There was another round of laughter, while Snape smirked, obviously accepting the compliment.

"What about you, Frank?" Alice asked.

Frank gave a rueful grin and tapped his face. "Jaw," he said.

Snape arched both his eyebrows this time. "You envy my _jaw?_ "

Frank shrugged. "It's a strong jaw."

Then it was Hermione's turn. Stuttering slightly, she managed, "Er - your eyes, I suppose."

There was that devilish eyebrow. She didn't think it was the stuff of nightmares, exactly, but it did haunt her sometimes. "They're very... er... dark."

Alice snorted.

"Very observant," Snape commented. "Perhaps you will also inform me that the sky is blue?"

Hermione blushed, but bristled, too. "Well, they _are_ dark! It's unusual!"

"Hmm."

Professor Flitwick kindly decided to save her. "Well, I for one have always envied your grace, Severus. You were rather awkward in your youth, but you've become a very elegant young man."

Snape looked like he was going to object to the term "young," but Professor McGonagall interjected, "Yes, you are _very_ graceful, Severus."

"I've always thought you would be an excellent dancer..." Flitwick's eyes shone. "Why don't we have some music?"

Before anyone could object (and Hermione could see Snape wasn't the only one who wanted to), Flitwick waved his wand with a flourish.

There was a loud crack, and Flitwick was flung off his chair and onto the floor, his entire body covered in black glitter.

"Oh, dear!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing forward to help him up. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Professor, I put a defensive jinx in place just in case -" She cut off suddenly, not wanting Snape to know what Alice had planned.

"How curious," Snape said, "that your idea of a defensive jinx involves black glitter."

Hermione blushed. Across the room, Alice was clutching her ribs as she laughed, although she spared a brief outraged look at Hermione once she had caught her breath.

"I really am sorry, Professor," Hermione said.

The first few waves of Professor Flitwick's wand had failed to remove even a single speck of glitter. Rather than growing annoyed, the wizard was clearly delighted.

"Well done!" he praised. "Very impressive!"

"I can get rid of -"

"No, no! Please allow me!" Flitwick turned his wand on himself and began muttering spells, along with the occasional, "Most impressive!"

Hermione, still blushing, sank into a seat as far away from everybody else as she could manage. Snape, however, seemed keen on enjoying her embarrassment, and left his chair to stand beside her.

"Am I to take it," he said, "that any attempt to alter your decorating -" he hesitated a moment, then grudgingly continued, " _skills,_ will result in this fascinating horror?"

Hermione blushed even more deeply. "Well… yes."

Snape smirked. "Then I also conclude," he continued, "that there was not a complete consensus where the decorations were concerned?"

"There was some debate, yes."

"Hmm." Snape's gaze traveled to Alice, who quickly bent over the snack table. "And was it you who discovered my cake preference?"

Hermione suppressed a grin. So she _had_ been right! "Yes."

"And how did you do that?"

"I asked the Hogwarts house-elves what desserts they remembered you eating. Their memory was really quite good, you know, they could remember more than a year back. So I compiled a list of all the desserts you had eaten, adjusting for the frequency with which they had been served, and the conclusive result was Black Forest cake, you ate it almost twice as often as the next most frequently consumed dessert, which was pumpkin pie."

"I see," Snape said, eyeing her intently. "I must conclude, then, that it did not occur to you to simply ask the house-elves which was my favorite."

Hermione opened her mouth in horror, all hopes that he might have been impressed by her diligence brutally dashed. "I - I didn't think -"

"Didn't think that the creatures who served my food day and night would have drawn their own conclusions about my preferences?"

Hermione flushed horribly. Unable to help herself, she buried her face in her hands.

"Do _not_ cry!" he said sharply.

"I'm not crying!" she exclaimed, raising her head slightly. "Oh, but you're right! How _awful._ I developed an entire equation to determine your favorite, and I just assumed they wouldn't know - I'm as bad as the Malfoys, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't say you are _quite_ that bad," Snape said, smirking slightly. "I am not certain any of the Malfoys know what an equation is. You have that advantage, at least."

Hermione snorted. "What's the point of being smart, if I don't think?"

Snape gave her a very pointed look at that, and she said, "Yes, I know! That's what you've been telling me all these years. Sometimes I just…" She sighed heavily.

"Get carried away?"

"Yes," she said. "And, well… I'm used to Harry and Ron. And they don't notice things like that at all."

Snape snorted then. "Of course not. Potter only manages to notice the details that will land him in the most trouble, and Weas-"

"NO!" Hermione shrieked suddenly, leaping to her feet.

Snape recoiled, looking shocked and almost guilty before his expression resolved itself into a sneer. "I did not realize an insult to Mr. Weasley would offe-"

"No!" Hermione replied, "oh no, oh no!" She clutched her hair. "I forgot my research!"

"Hermione," Professor McGonagall said in a comforting voice. "This is a birthday party. No research is required."

"No!" Hermione cried. "At Grimmauld Place! I thought I grabbed it all - but there was a pile - I have to go!"

They all stared at her as she rushed to the door and started pulling her winter gear on.

"Hermione -"

"I'm sure it can wait -"

"No, it can't, it can't!" she cried. She wrenched open the front door, glared at the snow, then spun on her heel and dashed back to Snape, who was utterly unprepared to find her throwing her arms around him. "Happy birthday!"

Then she rushed out into the snow with her boots untied and her scarf flying.

* * *

Severus watched Miss Granger disappear in a flurry of Gryffindor red and gold, feeling rather uneasy. First the wretched girl had gone to the trouble of planning a party for him, almost going out of her way, it seemed, to provide him with opportunities to embarrass her, and showing the consideration and good sense not to invite her infernal friends, which in all likelihood had involved lying to their miserable faces. She had spent unnecessary hours researching his dessert consumption. She had implemented a defense mechanism to ensure her decorations could not be twisted to humiliate him. Then she had hugged him. _Hugged_ him. And now she was gone.

"You know," Longbottom said, "she used to do that all the time in school. It drove Harry and Ron mad."

Minerva sniffed. "I would imagine so. I would have thought, after all that has happened, that she might have become a little bit less excitable, but it seems she still has some growing up to do."

"Ah HA!" Flitwick exclaimed. With a little dance of joy, he wiggled his wand at his own face. There was another loud crack, and pink glitter exploded everywhere.

"Ah." Flitwick, completely glitter-free, surveyed his sparkling, stony-faced companions. "That might not have been _quite_ the right counterspell. Miss Granger really is very talented."

Fiend sneezed, shook herself until the very air was twinkling, then batted playfully at Severus's glittering robes. Alice giggled.

Severus shot her a dark look, but she only grinned.

"You really would have preferred my decorations, Snape."

He scowled. "I doubt it."

It wasn't until after they had all scrubbed the sparkling mess out of their clothes, faces, and hair (and oh, the effort to resist saying something about Severus's hair clearly cost Alice some effort) that Frank turned to Severus and asked, "What research?"

Severus, busy trying to pick glitter out of his teeth ( _how_ had he gotten it in his _teeth?_ ), spat into the sink in front of him, wiped his mouth, then answered.

"Time. Death. Alternate realities. The usual."


	10. Chapter 10

10

Hermione's research with Snape was not an idle intellectual pursuit.

In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, not every Death Eater had been captured, and the Lestrange brothers, like the lunatics they were, had developed a plot to resurrect Voldemort. (Was it his third resurrection? Fourth? Did the diary count? Did Quirrel?)

Professor McGonagall and Alice Longbottom had taken the Lestranges out of the picture, but the method the brothers had intended to use to resurrect Voldemort had led Hermione and Snape to their current line of research: Ekrizdis. Once, Hermione would have seriously considered the idea that Voldemort was the most evil wizard who had ever lived. Now, she thought she might laugh in the face of anyone who said something so absurd.

Was Voldemort evil? Certainly.

The most evil wizard to ever live? Most decidedly not.

Ekrizdis may or may not have deserved that dramatic title, but Hermione was rather inclined to believe that he did. Voldemort had torn his own soul apart. Ekrizdis had torn apart the souls of others, countless others. He had found the bonds between the spiritual and the physical and violated them in every possible way.

And that was only the beginning of the horrors.

The Lestranges, of course, had intended to follow in his footsteps, or at least to use what he had discovered. Their plan, when Voldemort had been defeated in Godric's Hollow after murdering the Potters, had not been to track down his wasted spirit in Albania as Pettigrew had later done. They had believed he was truly dead - but that his soul could be retrieved. They had formed the same plan after Harry's duel with Voldemort last May.

They had discovered that the archway in the Ministry, the Veil that had killed Sirius in Hermione's fifth year, was in fact the Gate of Death, one of the gates of reality Ekrizdis so frequently and obscurely referenced. It had been located in the bowels of Azkaban for centuries before it was discovered and reported it to the Unspeakables, who had transferred it to the Department of Mysteries.

According to the mysterious guardian of the gate, not only could souls pass through the Veil into the beyond, they could also be summoned back.

Naturally, this was cause for concern. Though the Lestranges had been dealt with, the very possibility that the tiny evil fragment of Voldemort's soul that had been in his body when he had died could return was worth investigating.

Of course, Hermione had made an effort to make sure Harry didn't think too deeply about any of it. After all, if the Lestranges could bring back Voldemort, maybe other people could be brought back, too - Sirius was the most obvious, having fallen directly through the Veil, but if the gate worked the way the Lestranges had believed it worked, then, really, who _couldn't_ they bring back? Harry's parents, Lupin and Tonks, Fred, all the others who had died in the war… Hermione understood the temptation it presented, not just for Harry but for everyone, and she had watched Snape with great care during the first few months of their research partnership to make sure he didn't try to do something stupid, like bring Lily back from the dead.

Snape, however, clearly had more self-control than Harry or Ron ever had. She still rather suspected that he spent more time than he was telling her researching the Gate of Death, and she had once caught a glimpse of a tiny, half-illegible scribble on his notes that included the name "Lily," but he was not Harry, and, in any case, the Gate of Death was not the only gate, or even the most interesting.

There were the two other gates to consider, the Gate of Time and, most fascinating to them both, the Gate of Worlds.

Hermione usually guarded her research carefully. Wards and jinxes, far worse than pimply faces or deluges of glitter. But, just as Snape had been discussing Harry's tendency to notice only details that could get him into trouble, she had remembered, in a horrible vivid rush, the day she had moved out.

The day she had rowed with Ron.

"How _dare_ you?" she had shrieked. "After everything he's done for us! After everything he's suffered!"

"Suffered?" Ron had mocked. " _Suffered?_ Everything that happened to him was his fault! Lily wouldn't've died if he'd kept his ugly mouth shut! No one made him join the Death Eaters! It was his own choice! It was his fault!"

"It was a mistake!"

"A MISTAKE?" Ron had roared. "The Death Eaters killed my brother! They killed my uncles! They were murderers! AND HE WAS ONE OF THEM!"

"Ron," Ginny had tried to cut in, but Ron had shouted, "He cut off George's ear! Look at that, Hermione! LOOK! _SNAPE DID THAT!_ "

"Ron," George had said, very pale. "Snape did all right by us all, in the end."

"Right," Ron had snapped, "he did _all right._ But _you_ -" He had jabbed his finger at Hermione. "You're in love with him!"

It was at that point that Hermione's stack of research, which she had been carrying back upstairs to her room after a meeting with Snape, had tumbled out of her arms.

And she had never picked it up.

Grimmauld Place was empty when she got there. She could have heard a pin drop in the silence. Heart racing, she rushed up the stairs to the drawing room.

Her research wasn't there.

But surely, she told herself, surely they wouldn't have looked through it? Her notes bored Ron, he had always said so.

Oh, but she knew that _this_ wouldn't have bored him. Knowing what she and Snape were up to, what they were talking about during all their many meetings - Ron and Harry would _both_ have been eager to read that.

Hermione ran from room to room, searching the house as she knew Snape had once done, turning it inside out in her desperation to find her notes. And there, at last, on Harry's desk, she found it. A stack of paper. A stack of paper that was half as tall as it should have been.

"Damn you, Harry Potter!" Hermione cried, slapping her hands on the pile. The stack of paper shuddered beneath the blow, and the bottle of color-changing ink at the edge of the desk tipped over and drenched the bottom layers of parchment in rainbow hues before she could snap out a furious, "Scourgify!"

But there was no time to waste in glaring at the remnants of her pilfered research. Hermione sprang to her feet, took one step toward the door, then stopped in her tracks to rummage in her many pockets for the fake Galleon that would send a message to Snape.

Biting her lip and bouncing on her feet as she concentrated, Hermione tapped the coin with her wand and spelled a message onto it: _Research gone. So is Harry._

She didn't bother mentioning that Ron was missing as well. Snape, and for that matter anyone with even a modicum of intelligence, would infer it immediately.

She growled in frustration and wrenched open the study door, tearing down the stairs of Grimmauld Place and Disapparating, mid-stride, from the doorstep.

Snape would also infer that she was going after them. After all, that was the structure of her life: Harry and Ron did something reckless and ridiculous, and she ran after them to make sure they didn't get killed.

Her Apparation took her, to her simultaneous dread and escalating fury, to a desolate little pier on the northern coast of Scotland. She had become unpleasantly familiar with this place over the last few months, since she and Snape had begun researching Ekrizdis's gates.

The Gate of Death - the archway that had killed Sirius - was still stowed away in the Department of Mysteries. But Hermione had not Apparated to this bone-chilling pier because of the Gate of Death. That research was safely stored at Snape's flat, well out of Harry's reach.

No, Harry had discovered her notes on the Gate of Worlds, which Snape and Hermione both found the most astonishing of the three gates (the Gate of Time was interesting, of course, but terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time, so they left it well enough alone). She and Snape had spent weeks speculating on the possibilities the world gate might offer, whether the other realities might be parallel to their own, inhabited by humans, even inhabited by other versions of themselves - or, conversely, whether they would obey laws of magic and physics so diverse from their own that setting foot through the gate would mean instant death for any idiot who tried it. After all, even small changes to the Earth's initial magichemical configuration in the earliest days of its formation might have rendered it uninhabitable to all life for the entire duration of its existence.

In the end, they had decided to examine the gate itself. They had no evidence, of course, that it was in Azkaban, but where else would it be? So they had disembarked from this crumbling pier and searched the ancient fortress top to bottom, trying to ignore the pleas of its prisoners, who, Hermione privately thought, were getting a rather better deal than they deserved. The Dementors had been banned from Britain and its surrounding magical territories, and Azkaban, though still dreadful, was hardly the nightmarish place it must have been for the innocent Muggleborns who had been incarcerated there during the war.

She wasn't ashamed to admit that she had spent a few minutes in front of Umbridge's cell, gloating. Snape, bless him, had thought up a few nasty remarks for the occasion. They had both left feeling cheered.

And, ultimately, they had found the gate. Unlike the arch in the Department of Mysteries, which had unnerved her profoundly, this archway had filled her with the same wonder and curiosity she had felt when Ollivander first handed her the vine wood wand she now clutched in her hand. It was _wonderful._ It was _magic._

Snape had been forced to grip the hood of her cloak and yank her backward when she made a dazzled move to touch it. She thought he had understood, though. His black eyes had been glittering with anticipation, and his comment on her inferior decision-making skills had been halfhearted at best.

She snorted. If her decision-making skills were inferior, Harry's were positively abysmal. Yes, she and Snape were fairly confident, after studying the arch, that any daring witch or wizard who stepped through would _not_ be instantly pulverized by the crushing weight of a physically incompatible universe, and, all right, they had a decent idea of how to control the destination, but _still._ You didn't just take a casual stroll into another world! _Honestly._

The rickety skiff that usually bobbed on the waves beside the pier was gone, further proof that Harry and Ron had followed through with the absurd plan she had suspected the second she saw her depleted notes. Transfiguring a much sturdier boat from the driftwood scattered like giant bones along the shore, Hermione set out at once.

It was the Department of Mysteries all over again, she fumed. Only this time, instead of consulting and ignoring her, Harry hadn't bothered to consult her at all!

Nervously, she checked her fake Galleon. No response from Snape. She wasn't surprised. Their meetings were usually regular and lacking in any urgency other than the thrill of intellectual discovery. An actual emergency was the last thing any of them expected, now that the war was over and the last of the Death Eaters were dead or imprisoned. He might not even keep his fake Galleon on him at all times.

And, after all, it _was_ his birthday. There was the possibility that he was enjoying himself in her absence.

Hermione shook her head, remembering Ron's accusations. Snape was old enough to be her father. And he had known her since she was a child. She was quite certain he would be even more repulsed at the idea of a romantic relationship between them than she was.

The deep gray of the North Sea swept away beneath her, its restless waves slapping the sides of her driftwood vessel and splashing her with salty spray. The journey had been easier with Snape. His thin figure, posed in windswept darkness in the stern of the boat, had _belonged_ to this place. She had felt that nothing could oppose him.

She, on the other hand, was shivering, her thick hair kept flying into her mouth, her nose was running, her eyes were watering against the wind, and, even with the copious warming charms she had cast, she felt like the bleak January skies would probably turn her to a hunched, hairy, possibly snotty statue of ice before she made it to the shore of Azkaban.

Yes - no doubt when Snape discovered her rigid body, he would lament the loss of their unexpressed love.

She snorted, then hastily wiped her nose on her sleeve before casting another _Scourgify_. She was going to hex Harry into something truly disgusting when she found him. Something that oozed.

She only hoped she wouldn't be too late.

Evening was falling by the time Azkaban's dreadful silhouette appeared on the horizon, its impenetrable black gaping like a hungry hole in the gray world around her. What was it about this place that had allowed the gates to be built here? Had this place become what it was because of them? Ekrizdis, they were fairly certain, had not created the gates. From everything they had learned, the gates had existed long before the fortress had been built, perhaps even so long ago that the island had been a different shape. It was simply _fascinating,_ and their inability to discover the answers had neither frustrated nor deterred them: this was a mystery that could take lifetimes to solve.

Of course, Hermione wasn't certain she wanted to spend her lifetime studying the magic beneath Azkaban. As fascinating as it was, it wasn't _practical,_ and there were so many other things to do. Freeing the house-elves, ensuring equal rights for non-human creatures (she refused to call them _sub-_ human), eliminating prejudice from the Wizarding world, establishing global peace…

She sighed. Who had time for it all?

Helping Snape, however, was a priority. Not only because the thrill of an intellectual equal (all right, superior, but _only_ because of his age) had awakened her mind in ways she could never have dreamed of, or because she was genuinely concerned about the implications of the gates, or because this kind of research could change the world, but because Snape needed it. He needed company, maybe even friendship. He had his Kneazle kitten, but that, she had decided, was not enough.

He had been surprisingly compliant with her suggestion to discuss Ekrizdis. That alone had proven to her how dreadfully he needed the company.

She wished she had his company now. The scrape of her boat against the merciless rocks of Azkaban's shore made her shiver from more than the cold.

 _Ridiculous,_ she told herself. After all, what had she to fear? The Dementors were gone. A Wizarding Guard had been established, and Kingsley had given her and Snape permission to come and go whenever they wished.

She rolled her eyes. She doubted Harry had needed permission. The guards had probably bent over backward trying to get his autograph, then let him through with grateful tears in their eyes.

Huffing in disapproval, and trying to cling to her annoyance rather than the choking anxiety which threatened to overwhelm her, she stomped up the stone walkway to the gates.

"Has Harry Potter been here?" she asked aggressively.

The guards eyed each other. "He went through an hour ago, ma'am."

Ma'am. How she hated that. But an hour! That was a stroke of astonishing luck. She knew it couldn't have been more than a day ago, because she had been invited to the Weasleys for dinner last night, but she had been afraid he might have had at least several hours' head start. She racked her brain, trying to remember if a map of Azkaban had been included in her research. She thought not. No, she was quite sure Snape had it.

It had taken her and Snape significantly more than an hour to find the gate. Maybe Harry wouldn't have discovered it yet.

Then again, Snape was right: Harry had a way of finding whatever would get him in the most trouble in less time than she would have believed possible.

"His friend was with him, Ron Weasley," the guard said.

Hermione nodded, resigned. Leaving them to their curious stares, she stomped her way past them, up the craggy stairs and through the black doorway.

" _Lumos!_ " she whispered. The pale silver light gleamed over the wet stones, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude that the Dementors no longer inhabited this place. It was easy to imagine the vision that would have met her if they did - the way their horrible cloaks would have bled into the shadows, the way the passageway would have shrunk with their darkness and cold.

She shook herself, trying to pull the annoyance back up, but she was terribly nervous. It was such a horrible place.

Pulling her cloak tighter, she hurried down the passageway and into the chamber with all the doorways. Her wand light must have been brighter than usual, because almost as soon as she entered, prisoners down the hallways to every side started moaning at her.

Ignoring them, she rushed straight to the stairway to the right, leading down, down, down, past a hundred cells at least. The moans faded after a while, and still her feet pattered downward, as the air grew stale and tense around her.

She remembered how it had felt, the first time she had descended these steps. There had come a point when she had, inexplicably, been filled with the urge to go back. Snape had stopped her, his pale face taut with triumph.

"There is a Gate here," he had whispered.

She hadn't asked how he knew. Slowly, fighting against the urge to turn back, they had inched their way forward until they came to the bottom of the stairs, where a thin crevice split the wall.

Without hesitation, Snape had slipped his way into it, and Hermione, grumpily aware that she had a few more curves to squeeze in than Snape, had followed. The force compelling them backward had almost conquered her, but Snape's cold gloved hand had seized her wrist and pulled her along, until suddenly, quite breathtakingly, the compulsion had vanished.

They had stood in a vast chamber, and ahead of them they had seen the arch.

Hermione, squeezing herself once more into the uncomfortable crevice, felt a jolt of panic as she heard voices echoing down the obnoxiously narrow passage toward her.

"... am the Guardian."

Hermione's heart lurched. The Guardian was the mysterious bodiless figure who appeared to anyone seeking to understand the gate. She and Snape had interrogated it several times now, to fascinating and frustrating results (the Guardian reminded them both dreadfully of Trelawney), but she knew all it would take for Harry to use the arch was a question -

"Yeah, yeah, we _know_ you're the Guardian," Ron said impatiently. "What we don't know is how to use the Gate! Hermione said you have to ask a question, but _what_ question?"

Hermione said? Hermione _said?_ She bristled, uncomfortably lodged between the two stone walls of the passage. She hadn't said anything! She had written it down, and they had stolen it!

She tried to draw in a deep breath to yell at them, but her lungs were too compressed by the stone. Experiencing a deep surge of panicked claustrophobia, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine Snape was there, dragging her along.

"A question will open the Gate of Worlds," the Guardian confirmed.

" _What question?_ " Ron all but bellowed.

Harry spoke over him quickly. "I want to see a world where my parents are alive," he said. "Is that possible?"

Hermione felt a stirring of pity at the longing in his tone, and horror at his last words.

"Yes," the Guardian said.

 _Damn it!_ Hermione thought. If she could just - squeeze - _through -_

A crackling whoosh of sound rushed down the tunnel toward her. She could feel all the heavy mass of her hair stand up as magic and an eerie, not-quite-physical sucking sensation filled the air.

"Harry!" she gasped out, but the crackling was much too loud. " _Harry! Ron!_ "

"Thanks," Harry said, and there were two particularly loud cracks before, quite abruptly, the whoosh of magic was gone.

"Damn it!" Hermione swore aloud, finally breaking free of the tunnel and toppling face-first onto the floor at the Guardian's feet. "You stopped me on purpose!" she accused.

The Guardian, its face flickering between a myriad of possibilities, male, female, androgynous, gave her a combination of grave looks and smiles. "No seeker can be hindered."

Hermione huffed, deeply irritated, and climbed back to her feet. "I want to go to the same world they did," she said. "Is that possible?"

The Guardian nodded. "Yes."

The crackling magic filled the air again, only this time Hermione could see it, a wild flickering of power that danced beneath the stone archway, much less ominous than the Veil that had stolen Sirius from them.

"Thanks," Hermione said, much less sincerely than Harry had, and stomped through the gate.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Severus huddled in a corner of his cell, arms crossed over his aching chest and his face buried against his knees. The Dementor who had brought him his food - cold, moldy bread that he retched back up more often than not - still lingered, savoring his misery, feeding on the resistance that Severus could only barely cling to even when the Dementors were nowhere in sight, but which now slipped away as easily as his strength and health before it.

He had learned, after the first terrifying night, to never show his face when the Dementors came. The sight of his face - his eyes - his mouth - seemed to be an irresistible temptation for them, and they had descended, one after the other, to stroke his jaw with their cold, decaying fingers, leaning their gaping mouths so close to his that he had been certain they were going to Kiss him before his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

He had awoken alone, with the moldy bread, the cold settled so deeply within his chest that he had actually wondered, for a few horrific minutes, if they had taken his soul.

But no. He was still himself. He could remember Lily, with effort. No trace of her could have remained if they had taken his soul, surely.

The cold didn't leave him, though. He didn't know how many days or months or years he had spent here; his efforts to keep track had been obliterated by the inescapable despair the Dementors brought. Sometimes, when he felt the weakness in his limbs, he thought he must have been there for decades. Sometimes, and this was somehow worse, he thought it had only been days.

In his most rational moments, he could conclude, from the way his broken ribs were beginning to heal in the wrong positions, that it may have been weeks or even a month or two, but surely no more, and no less.

He felt it when the Dementor left, more than he consciously registered the scrape of the door as it closed. The darkness of the room deepened, no longer broken by the sickening gray shreds of hunger that had sucked at it before. Severus didn't move from his corner. The rough stone wall was the only stability he could find in this place.

Savage had told him the cells with windows were the worst, because it was too easy to contemplate suicide. She had been a fool. Severus had found three separate edges on these cold stone walls where he could have scraped his wrists open, deep enough to kill. He did not find it maddening, though. It was a comfort, the one small bit of power he had left. The Dementors might think he was helpless against them, but they were wrong. It was his choice to stay here. It was his choice to live. He could escape them in an instant, but he was strong enough, despite them, to wait.

He barely remembered, now, what he was waiting for. Even if he left this place, was the rest of the world any better? He had a vague memory of realizing that there was nothing that made his life worth living, and he could think of nothing to contradict that, not even Lily.

Still - this was power, and he was not going to throw it away by using it.

He ignored the moldy bread, though he was starving. He could feel the ache in his body for nourishment, its desperate craving for the nutrients that would strengthen it. Others might have spent their time remembering all the food they had ever eaten. Severus recited to himself, with terrible longing, the ingredients of a Nourishing Draught.

What he wouldn't give for the lining of a cow's second stomach, the root of a Voracious Vine, the tongue of a mother duck...

He gritted his teeth against the memory of the potion's smell, rich and earthy, with a taste of barley, the thick foamy texture of Butterbeer -

He reached out in the darkness for the bread they had left him, then recoiled as something squirmed beneath his fingers. Ah, yes. Maggots. That had happened once or twice. Last time, he had picked them off and eaten the bread anyway, but now he was finding it difficult not to wonder what maggots tasted like. Surely they contained more nutrition than the bread they had hatched from?

With a snarl of desperation and disgust, he flung the bread as far from him as he could. He heard it burst apart against the bars, heard its crumbs - and probably a few maggots - scatter across the floor outside his cell.

He would _not_ let them reduce him to this.

He pressed back into his corner, clutching at his chest as he so often did now, cold and miserable and hungry, and keenly aware that the Dementors were far enough away that he could actually _analyze_ these things now.

Analyze the irregular beat of his heart beneath his broken ribs.

Analyze the feverish sweat on his freezing brow.

Analyze the itch, the endless itch, of the cuts and burns from his duel with Lucius, wounds which had tried and failed and tried and failed to heal as he sat here rotting in this cell.

He could analyze, too, the smell of his unwashed body, the greasy, tangled mess of his hair, the stale taste of his teeth, the broken length of his fingernails, the uneven scraggle on his unshaven jaw. But these things were unimportant. Minor discomforts. It was the infection that worried him, the infection that was so easy to forget when the Dementors swept over him with their numbing, icy cold, but which returned to fester in his thoughts as soon as they were gone.

How long could his weakened body fight the bacteria multiplying like maggots in his skin?

Would he die here, not of cold or starvation, but of a filthy, easily curable infection? He could name the ingredients for half a dozen different disinfectants, based in tea tree oil or honey or even ground up maggots -

Severus tried to clear his mind of the panicked thoughts, but the itch and the cold, the hunger and the darkness, all preyed on him one after the other.

He supposed it should not have surprised him that he began to hallucinate.

The hallucinations were only auditory, at first. What else could they be, in this incessant black? The first sound startled him so much that he froze in place, utterly paralyzed, as if some demon had crept out of his nightmares.

"... think we just keep going up."

It was Potter's voice, unmistakably. Of all the people his fevered mind could hallucinate, was he really condemned to suffer _Potter?_

"Reckon we can risk a light?" a second voice asked. It was unfamiliar, certainly not one of Potter's usual friends.

"Better not," Potter said.

Severus heard the soft scuff of footsteps from the stairs spiraling down from outside his cell. They were coming up, coming closer.

Then, a second set of footsteps, much faster, and the unfamiliar man's voice exclaimed, "Hermione! Blimey, you startl-OW!"

A loud thump had interrupted the voice, and now a third voice, a woman's, hissed, "Be _quiet,_ Ronald Weasley!"

"Hermione," Potter said, "you shouldn't -"

" _I_ shouldn't?" the woman whisper-screeched. " _I_ shouldn't! You -"

Evidently words failed this female hallucination, for there was another thump and Potter yelped.

"Quiet!" the woman hissed.

"I would be, if you wouldn't hit me!" Potter muttered resentfully. "And you shouldn't have followed us!"

Several more thumps followed this pronouncement, and both men dissolved into stifled grunts of pain.

"Do you have _any_ idea how _dangerous_ this is?" the woman whisper-shrieked, punctuating her words with more thumps. "You have no idea what you're walking into! You have no right to be here! You could change everything!"

"Who cares?" Potter hissed back. "It's not like it's time travel - I'm not messing with the internal consistency of our universe -"

There was a long pause where everyone, Severus included, tried to digest this.

"You actually _read_ my research?" the woman said, evidently too surprised (and, Severus noted in disgust, flattered) to keep her voice lowered.

"The first few pages, at least," Potter muttered.

The woman thumped him again.

"My point is," Potter continued hastily, "that I can't mess anything up, can I? I mean - I would just be changing the present, and that should be fine!"

The woman made a scoffing sound. "Oh, yes, _completely_ fine!" She sounded slightly hysterical. "You'll just waltz into an alternate universe, change a few things around -"

Severus pushed his greasy hair behind his ears. _What_ had she just said?

"Hermione, I could see my parents! For all I know they're in danger here! I could save them!"

"Harry -" the woman said, and Severus, unable to help himself, leaned closer to the bars. Harry? Why was she calling him _Harry?_

This was a very strange hallucination.

"Why can't I?" Potter - whichever Potter it was - demanded. "It won't mess anything up! The future isn't set in stone! Or are you telling me you believe it is, in all that Divination tosh -"

"Don't be silly, of course I don't!" The woman sounded outraged. "But - Harry, you have no idea what could be out there! Haven't you considered what must have changed for your parents to still be alive?"

"Yeah, I have!" Potter said hotly. "Maybe Voldemort never heard the prophecy -"

Severus flinched at the name.

"- or maybe Snape never gave it to him -"

 _What?_

"- or maybe that slimy little rat Wormtail never betrayed them -"

 _Wormtail_ \- that sounded oddly familiar. Where had he heard -

"- or maybe I was never born to begin with! Who CARES, Hermione? I want to see them!"

"Er, mate," the unfamiliar male voice interjected. "You might want to lower your voice a bit."

"There's no one around, we must be miles beneath -"

"Haven't you noticed how cold it is?" the male voice - hadn't the woman called him Weasley? - prompted.

There was a sudden silence, then Potter hissed. "Dementors -"

"Harry -" the woman said fearfully. "Harry - I know you want to see your parents, and I understand, I really do -"

"No, you _don't -_ "

"But Harry, we have to go back! If the Dementors are still here - and your parents are still alive - don't you understand what that must mean?"

"You don't think Vol-"

"Say _You-Know-Who!_ " both of the others hissed.

"I already said it once, didn't I? And Snatchers didn't show up."

"Yes, but _still,_ Harry, we have to be careful! What if - oh, it's so awful, but what if he _won?_ "

There was a long, dreadful silence. Severus was practically pressed against the bars of his cell now, both bewildered and fascinated by their conversation.

Severus was cursed with many unfortunate things, but a slow mind wasn't one of them. Though he certainly hadn't discounted the overwhelming likelihood that this was a hallucination burgeoning from his fever, he was at least willing to contemplate the possibility that these people were, impossible though it seemed, from another world.

After all, Ekrizdis _had_ suggested such things.

 _Possibilities recoil from each other, too entwined to drift apart, but forever separated by the gates of reality…_

Was this another possibility? That Potter had been named "Harry" instead of "James," that the Dark Lord had been defeated in his world, that Severus himself had some parallel in another universe?

It was madness.

It was riveting.

"But don't you see?" Potter said. "This is my _point._ My parents could be in danger! I _have_ to find them, to help them!"

"Harry -"

"Lay off, Hermione!" Weasley snapped. "You don't know - you didn't lose anyone -"

The woman gave a stifled gasp.

"Well, it's true," Weasley muttered. "You _didn't._ Your family are all Muggles, and they were _safe -_ "

"Because I sent them to Australia!" she exclaimed, only remembering to whisper halfway through.

"But they were still safe!" Weasley continued. "You don't know what it was like for us - what it's still like - we _lost_ people - and now we could save them -"

"By strolling into another world? Without a plan? Without preparation? Without _me?_ "

"We knew you'd follow us," Weasley said smugly.

This was obviously a mistake. There was another thump, and he hissed in pain.

" _Boys!_ " she snarled, in a rather more intimidating tone than Narcissa had used when expressing a similar sentiment.

"We have to go _back,_ " she snapped, "we have to _plan,_ we have to _prepare,_ and then maybe, _maybe,_ we can come back."

"All right," Potter said, "all right, Hermione. But let's at least have a look around first -"

" _Harry Potter!_ "

"- otherwise how will we know how to prepare?"

There were several seconds of angry huffing from the woman, then she snapped out, " _Fine._ But if we see _one_ Dementor -"

"We won't," Potter said hastily, which Severus thought was a rather idiotic (and typical) promise for him to make. "And I can always cast my Patronus -"

"You'd better be ready," Weasley muttered. "Blimey, it's cold."

"Maybe," the woman growled, "if you had bothered to _ask,_ I could have warned you that there might be Dementors here! _Honestly,_ didn't you even consider it?"

Neither man answered.

She huffed.

"All right, Hermione, you're smarter than us, we get it," Weasley said. "Let's just - I dunno - find some prisoner to interrogate. I've got a few Pumpkin Pasties here, I bet they'd tell us just about anything for that -"

Severus's mouth, to his deep shame, began to water.

He heard the shuffle of their footsteps coming closer. They didn't _sound_ like a hallucination, but in the impenetrable blackness it was impossible to really tell. It could be a trick, a dream - it could be anything -

"Here," he tried to call out. It came out as only a hoarse whisper. "Here."

"Did you hear something?" Weasley whispered, sounding, to Severus's satisfaction, unnerved.

"It's probably one of the prisoners," the woman said, trying to sound nonchalant but with a distinct quiver in her voice.

"Here," Severus rasped out again.

" _Lumos!_ "

The light was blinding. Severus flinched like he'd been struck with a lance, just barely stifling a cry of pain. Involuntarily, he stumbled back to the corner of his cell, covering his eyes.

"I thought I saw something move in that one -" the Weasley voice muttered.

He heard their shuffling feet approach, but couldn't look at them. His eyes burned. And he was seized, quite against his will, by an unshakable terror.

Had he really gone mad?

"I don't know about this," Potter muttered.

"He could be dangerous," the woman whispered.

"Hey!" Weasley called gruffly. "Hey, you! In the corner!"

Severus pressed his palms harder against his eyes, but managed to turn toward them. There was something so uncouth about the Weasley voice, something almost laughable. The idea of being seen in such a state by such a rude person made Severus seethe. With an effort, he squinted his eyes against his palms and slowly, slowly began to lower his hands.

"It's the light," the woman said suddenly. "It's too bright -"

Immediately, the _Lumos_ spell dimmed, though it was still brighter by far than anything he had seen since Savage's Patronus had glided away.

"Er, can you hear us?" Potter asked.

Severus forced his voice to remain steady, though it was still a mere whisper. "One moment, please."

His politeness seemed to reassure them. He could hear at least one of them sigh in relief. For several long moments, Severus squinted into the pool of shadow cupped in his hands. After what may well have been a few minutes, he lowered his hands to his chest.

All three of the strangers gasped.

"Snape!" Potter exclaimed. "But -"

"It can't be -" Weasley muttered.

"Oh, my -" the woman squeaked.

Severus tried to glare at them, but the light was still too bright to look at them directly. He felt exposed, and couldn't stop himself from shrinking back into the corner, arms firmly wrapped around his chest.

 _Potter,_ he thought, _why did it have to be Potter?_

"Snape," Potter said slowly. "You are Snape, aren't you? Severus Snape?"

Severus wished he could meet the man's hateful eyes, but the wand was in the way. "Yes."

Both men rounded on the woman, then, and the beam of light suddenly illuminated her pale, shocked face. Mounds of bushy hair surrounded her head, and a thick Gryffindor scarf was trailing almost to the floor over one of her shoulders. Her brown eyes were wide and frightened.

"You said this wasn't time travel!" Potter exclaimed.

"It isn't!" she said shrilly, but she sounded unsure.

"Hermione," Potter said, " _look at him._ Does that look like our Snape to you?"

Severus felt her gaze flutter over him, warm and worried. "No - no, I know it's not, but -"

"Hang on," Weasley said. Severus could just make out his red hair - _definitely_ a Weasley. "Maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Potter demanded.

The young man's voice was suddenly grim. "Maybe we _did_ time travel -"

"I _told_ you that's not -" the woman started.

" _Just listen!_ Maybe we _did_ time travel - because - well - maybe this is the only possible way to be in a world where your parents are alive, Harry."

Silence followed this statement. Potter, who was holding the wand, visibly shivered - the light shook all across the walls.

"So you're saying," he forced out, "that - that my parents are - are doomed to die? In _every_ world?"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

Potter made an inarticulate sound of rage and grief that truly startled Severus. He had always been under the impression that Potter's emotions ran skin deep.

"Shh!" the woman hissed.

"I don't believe it!" Potter snarled. "No - I don't _accept_ it. We can change it. We _will_ change it."

"But Harry - how?"

"We defeated Vol-"

" _You-Know-_ "

"We defeated RIDDLE once," Potter snapped, "and we can do it again!" He wheeled on Severus suddenly. "What year is it?"

Severus flinched back from the light. To his complete shock, Potter said, "Sorry," and lowered his flickering wand.

Perhaps it was the shock that made him answer so honestly. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know how long it's been -"

"But Harry," Weasley interrupted, "if Snape's in Azkaban - doesn't that mean the war's already over?"

"It can't be," the woman said. "Harry asked for a world where his parents were alive."

"Oh. Right."

"Why are you in prison, anyway?" Potter asked, frowning at Severus. "Ron's right - that _wasn't_ supposed to happen until after the war."

Severus could do nothing but blink. How the hell was he supposed to know why his reality was different from the (probably hallucinatory) reality this Potter - who was still, no matter his given name, _Potter_ \- had come from?

"I think you're scaring him, mate," Weasley said.

"I'm not _scared,_ " Severus said as scathingly as he could, which wasn't very: he was still rasping hoarsely.

"Of course you are!" the woman said, before turning to her friends and adding, "Just look at him! We have to help him!"

"Hermione," Weasley said sharply, "weren't you saying we weren't supposed to change -"

"She's right," Potter said. "He could tell us everything."

"You don't know that!" Weasley exclaimed. "He could be evil - he _was_ evil, remember? He got your parents killed!"

Severus felt a cold wave of shock. Whatever his feelings for Potter - and he didn't deny that they were usually murderous - he would certainly never have struck out at him through his parents. He had never even met his parents.

"He didn't mean to," Potter said. The complete lack of hatred in his words stunned Severus even more. Severus had _loathed_ his father, but he would have torn Potter to pieces if he'd so much as cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. It was the principle of the thing.

"Anyway," Potter added, "he was never _evil,_ just a slimy bastard."

That sounded more like the Potter he knew. It was an intense relief to hear it.

"But once we explain everything, he'll help us -"

"You're forgetting that we _can't_ help him," Weasley said, with the air of someone grasping at straws. "He's locked in a cell, remember?"

"Oh, honestly," the woman said, reaching into a pocket and drawing out a key. " _Move,_ Ronald."

She slid the key into the lock of Severus's door. It swung open. All three of the men gaped at her.

"Where did you get _that?_ " Weasley asked, awed.

"Kingsley gave it to me," she said, shrugging as she pocketed it. "For my research." Turning to Severus, who was staring at her in equal awe and no small measure of fear (hallucinations couldn't unlock doors), she said, "Why don't you come out - er - Severus?"

" _Severus?_ " Weasley hissed, evidently recovered from his brief moment of awe.

"Well, he's not Snape, is he?" she said. "Not _our_ Snape."

"Not _your_ Snape," Weasley mocked.

She ignored him, stepping into the cell and approaching Severus slowly, like he was a wild and frightened animal. Which, he supposed, he technically was.

"Hermione!" Weasley hissed. "Not so close! He could be dangerous!"

The woman continued to ignore him. In fact, she was so focused on Severus that he felt a flush creeping up his cheeks.

"Malnourished," she muttered, "feverish. Those cuts are infected. And, oh, I'm sure you need chocolate. If only I had thought - but I don't bother anymore, you know, since the Dementors were banished."

Severus stared at her.

"Yes, well," she said, still gazing at him with those wide brown eyes. "I think you'd better come with us. It'll be a bit of a shock, of course, but we'll get you -"

She cut off suddenly, and Severus knew why. A gust of cold so intense their teeth chattered blasted through the corridor, and on its wings -

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ Potter ground out. " _Expecto - Expecto -_ "

The woman lunged forward, grabbed hold of Severus's arm, and wrenched him out of his corner. He gasped, more in fear than surprise - if the Dementors caught him trying to escape - they could Kiss him, they _would_ Kiss him -

The woman shoved him out of the cell. "Harry - think of your parents -"

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ Potter finally managed, and a silver stag burst out of his wand, charging at the Dementors.

The four of them ran, Severus stumbling on weakened legs, dragged along by the woman as they half-tumbled down flights of stairs. The other two were ahead of them, racing ahead on strong legs that neither Severus nor the small woman could match.

Involuntarily, Severus glanced behind them. Up the walls of the spiral stone staircase, he could see the lingering sheen of silver cast by the Patronus. It was still covering their retreat.

"It must have been the key!" Hermione gasped. "They must have known the door was open - oh, how could I have been so _stupid -_ "

Severus hardly thought obtaining a key to the cells of Azkaban was the mark of a stupid person, but now did not seem the time to discuss it. They were descending deeper and deeper beneath the fortress, and he knew, with a thrill in his heart, that they were not escaping to the merciless North Sea, they were escaping somewhere else - somewhere impossibly far and yet so very, very close -

A wall of magic suddenly slammed against them, stopping them short. Severus involuntarily, irrationally started to turn back.

"No, ignore it, ignore it, it's just a trick," the woman babbled. "Just keep going - we're almost there -"

Severus, familiar enough with wards to recognize that he was being affected by one, took the woman at her word and resisted the strange impulse with all his might. Her hand clutched his, yanking him determinedly forward. He remembered Savage's pitying touch as she abandoned him to this place, and thought that the touch of this strange Hermione woman's hand was much, much better.

It was all madness, of course, but he was certain, absolutely certain, that it was real. He could not have imagined the silvery safety of Potter's Patronus or the warmth of the woman's skin, and he certainly could not have imagined this crevice before them, so narrow she could barely fit through it after him, not bundled up in winter clothes as she was.

Behind them, over her bushy head, Severus could see the Patronus getting closer, its silver fading dramatically though it butted its antlers at the nearest Dementors with desperate force. Its magic was flickering alarmingly, perhaps unable to withstand the sheer mass of Dementors bearing down on it. It held the crevice, but Severus could feel tendrils of cold reaching after them, and the girl sobbed with fear just behind him.

"Hermione!" Potter called.

"Here!" she sobbed, much too quietly to be heard by anyone but Severus. He doubted he could shout any louder, so he gripped her hand tightly and pulled her along, following the increasingly frantic cries of her friends.

Then, in icy silence, the light behind them flickered out. Blackness swept into the corridor. And Severus felt something - and he knew exactly what - begin to drag the girl away from him in the opposite direction.

"No!" she begged. "No! _Expect - Expecto -_ "

Severus pulled at her hand, but the cold was swallowing him, too, until he stood frozen in place, waiting for rotting fingers to clench his jaw -

Something warm and solid slammed into him from the other side. "Snape!" Potter hissed. "Where's -"

"H-H-Harry!" the girl gasped.

" _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_ Damn it! I don't understand why it's not working!"

Severus shivered. He could feel what, evidently, Potter could not. There were old magics here, the devastating hunger of the Dementors, the deep, curious crackle of something else. He could feel, intensely, that the Dementors were not welcome here, that the impulse which had seized him to turn back was now directed entirely at them.

And yet, they resisted it. With the same ravenous mocking defiance they had unleashed on Severus as he approached the island, they fought against the ancient wards, determined to reclaim their stolen prisoner, determined to punish whoever would dare defy them.

Potter's magic stood little chance of surviving the conflict.

"Harry!" the girl whispered again, before she was wrenched away from Severus entirely, her warmth disappearing into the shadowy onslaught of cold that now turned its grip on him.

"Hermione!" Potter gasped, "Hermione!" But there was no answer, only the grasping of the Dementors, and Potter grabbed hold of Severus's robes and dragged him backward, into the folds of the crackling ancient ward.

"Hermione!" Weasley exclaimed when they fell at last through the crevice into an echoing cavern. "Where's -"

"I couldn't -" Potter gasped. "I couldn't - my magic -"

There was no need for him to continue. The seeping ice and shadow of the Dementors was darkening the crevice, sliding out in tendrils and webs as the magic of the chamber shuddered beneath it.

"The wards have been breached," said a voice behind them.

Severus turned, startled, to see an insubstantial figure flickering before him, not a ghost, but not anything else he had ever seen, either. It shifted from form to form, its face changing from one to another to another. It stood beside a large archway like some kind of guard.

"Hermione!" Potter gasped, taking a step back toward the crevice before reeling backward as the first Dementor unfolded from the narrow gap.

"Hermione," Weasley moaned, but turned to the figure and said, "We need to go back in time, to stop ourselves! Is that possible?"

"This is not the Gate of Time," the figure replied.

The Dementor was gliding toward Severus. Potter gripped him by the robes and pulled him backward, even as one, two, a dozen others followed, filling the cavern, chilling them to the soul.

"We need to go back to our world," Potter whispered, every word anguished. "We need to go home - is that possible?"

"Yes," the figure said.

A crackling whoosh filled the air. The space within the arch was suddenly alight with dancing magic.

And Potter, gripping Severus by one arm and Weasley by the other, plunged into it.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Severus did not know what he had expected to feel. Perhaps as though he were being torn apart, atom by atom, only to be reconfigured in the quivering warp of spacetime he had created in this new world. Or perhaps as though it was the world itself which was being reconfigured, its tiniest threads shredded and stilled before winding suddenly, magnificently into place again, vibrant with the structure of a parallel universe.

Instead, he felt - nothing. Not even the squeezed-up sensation of Apparation. One moment he was in the terrible, Dementor-darkened cave, the next, he was in the same cave, and the Dementors were gone. The only other notable difference was that he was facing the opposite direction he had been facing before - quite as if he had simply spun on his feet rather than spinning through worlds.

How fascinating.

"Hermione!" Weasley gasped out, "Hermione!"

"We'll go back," Potter said determinedly, though he was pale with horror. "We'll find her -"

Severus did not comment on the chances of that. Even if, by some miracle, the Dementors didn't Kiss her on the spot, it seemed highly likely Crouch or some other Ministry official would authorize the Kiss for her once they realized she had helped a suspected Death Eater escape. And that wasn't even to mention what would happen if they found her key.

"What if -" Weasley started.

"We'll find her," Potter insisted. He looked like he was about to throw up.

Weasley, however, rounded on Severus. "This is your fault!" he snarled.

"What, precisely, is his fault?" a silky voice asked.

Severus watched a dark, billowing figure emerge from the crevice, and felt himself stumble backward, striking the edge of the interuniversal arch with one heel and falling clumsily to the floor.

His first, wild fear - that it was his father - vanished almost immediately. His father would have died before donning wizard's robes, his father would have sooner gone bald than wear his hair long, and his father certainly had never possessed the smooth, dangerous grace of this man.

Black eyes locked on his, as familiar as his own. They _were_ his own.

But he was _old._

No, not old. But older. Forty, perhaps. Twice Severus's age.

Which meant that Potter…

He twisted to look at the boy, really look at him. His shoes were scuffed Muggle affairs that Potter, for all his pro-Muggle speeches, would not have been caught dead wearing. The sweater beneath his robes and cloak was clearly hand-knitted, and rather poorly. His glasses were round, not rectangular. And his eyes…

Severus felt cold resignation pool through him, followed only then by realization.

The boy's parents were dead.

He, Severus, was responsible.

"We have to go back," he rasped, scrambling to his feet with none of the grace his older self possessed. He spun around, looking for the strange shapeshifting figure. "I need to go back!"

"Calm yourself," his older self commanded.

"But Lily!"

His older self's face went tense before smoothing into calm, emotionless lines. He was much better at Occlumency than Severus was now. Much, _much_ better, if the memory of getting Lily killed could be contained so easily.

"I have to go back," Severus snarled at him.

"You will," the man replied. "But first - where is Miss Granger?"

Severus surmised that he was referring to the Hermione girl, because Weasley's face turned red and Potter's white again.

"They took her - the Dementors took her -"

"I see." There was no tension this time, but, though his face was impassive, Severus could see clearly that his older self was upset, far more upset than he had been a moment ago.

More upset for this girl than for Lily?

"It was stupid," the Potter boy pleaded. "I know it was stupid -"

"And yet," the older man said coldly, "you did it anyway. How many of your friends have to die, Potter, before you learn?"

The boy looked anguished. Weasley gritted his teeth and said, "We have to go back. We shouldn't've left, but Harry's Patronus -" He cut off, casting his friend a guilty look.

"It wouldn't work," Potter said. "There were too many of them - but if you help -" He gave the older man another pleading look.

"It wouldn't work because of the wards," Severus whispered. His older self immediately turned to him. "The wards around the - the gate - they responded to the Dementors. Potter's magic was drowned out."

"That can happen?" the boy asked, astonished.

"Yes," the older man answered. "Meaning you - and I - will be powerless to combat the Dementors while they are within the wards."

"But Hermione -"

"Has either been taken prisoner, or Kissed," the older Severus stated. "In neither case can you help her until the Dementors retreat."

"THE HELL WE CAN'T!" The Weasley boy had evidently reached his limit. "We're going back there! You might not care what happens to her -"

The older man's lip curled in an almost feral snarl.

"- but she's our best friend!"

"Your best friend whom you abandoned in the midst of war?"

Weasley's ears went scarlet. Potter hastened to intervene. "That's forgiven," he said. "That was the Horcrux, Ron didn't mean -"

"And yet," the older man hissed, "he has abandoned her yet again -"

"We both did!" Potter cried. "We both - left her -" He was breathing hard. "We didn't want to, but we _had_ to, there were too many, and you heard what he said about the wards -"

"Yes, I did. Which is why I am telling you to _wait._ "

"WAIT?" Weasley exploded. "When Hermione might be -"

"Whatever fate you left her to has already occurred! You will accomplish nothing but your own demise, and that of your _other_ best friend, by returning now! Potter understands that - don't you, Potter?"

The Potter boy looked like someone had stabbed him in the gut, but he nodded.

"He's right," he conceded, looking at Weasley. "If we go back now, they'll just get us, too -"

"SO WHAT?"

"Allow me to explain this in terms you will understand, Weasley," the older Severus snapped. "I shall try to make it simple. If the Dementors had any intention of Kissing Miss Granger, then they have already done so by now. If they do _not_ have such intentions, then your only chance of saving her is to wait until you have a reasonable chance of doing so! In other words, until the Dementors are no longer within range of the gate's wards!"

The concept finally seemed to penetrate the red-haired boy's head. Severus watched him gape like a pufferfish, eyes bulging. His older self, on the other hand, rounded on Potter.

"Tell me exactly what happened."

Potter swallowed hard. "We - we found Hermione's notes -"

Fury flashed across the older man's face.

"We started looking through them, and we read what she said about other worlds, that there could be one like ours, but different somehow - a world where other possibilities had come true - and I thought -" He flushed. "I thought there might be one where my parents were still alive."

"I had already deduced that much, Potter. Tell me what happened after you made the dunderheaded decision to seek that world out."

"We went through the gate." Potter waved his hand at the arch behind them. "And we were in a cave just like this one. At first we weren't sure it had worked. We didn't feel any different. But we decided to take a look around, and once we had gone up the stairs a bit - past the wards, I guess - it started to get colder. That was when Hermione showed up."

"She told us we were stupid," Weasley said dully. "She said we should have been prepared -"

"But we wanted to have a look around," Potter said. "It was my idea. I thought if we could just find out more about the world, we would know what we needed to bring next time -"

"But then we found _him._ " Weasley gave Severus a belligerent look.

"We could tell something had gone wrong," Potter said. "That we must have gone back in time. I mean, obviously - look at him. But Ron thought maybe - maybe it was because my parents never live much longer than that. In any world. Maybe they always… die young. So when I asked if it was possible to see them..."

"The Guardian sent you to another time in another world," the older man finished. "A time before they were killed."

"But something else has to be different, too," Potter said. "It's not just the time. You - I mean, _he_ \- he was in Azkaban. _Before_ they died. But that didn't happen - did it?"

The older man's eyes swept from Potter to Severus. "No," he said slowly. "It did not... Why were you in Azkaban?"

His eyes pierced Severus in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable. He had heard many of his classmates, over the years, describe him as _creepy._ For the first time, he began to have some understanding of what they meant. It wasn't that there was a threat in those dark eyes. But they were cold, _other,_ even as they were a reflection of himself. There was an intensity and a depth to them that seemed, even to him, unfathomable.

He made an effort not to look away. "Lucius Malfoy killed five Aurors. He placed me under the Imperius Curse to set the trap."

"You can resist the Imperius Curse," the man said sharply.

"I - tried," Severus said jerkily, flushing. He didn't want to add that after a day of paralysis, preceded by a night without sleep, not to mention the injuries of the duel, he had been weakened. "By the time I shook off the curse, it was too late."

"I don't get it," Weasley said. "Why did he have to put you under the Imperius Curse? You're a Death Eater, aren't you? Shouldn't you have been happy to do whatever he wanted?"

Severus glared at him. "I am _not_ a Death Eater."

Three surprised faces looked back at him.

"But you're going to be," Weasley prompted.

Severus gazed at him in deep dislike. "I will never be a Death Eater. That's why Lucius framed me. I refused."

In an instant, the careful shields his older self had erected dropped. His voice was no more than a shocked whisper. "You refused?"

" _Yes._ " Severus glared at him now. "I take it _you_ didn't?"

His older self stared at him. "No… I did not."

Severus felt a rush of fury for this man, who had put himself before Lily, who had let Lily _die_. How could he have been so selfish, so heartless, so _evil?_ Severus didn't even understand how it was _possible._

"What happened?" he sneered. "You accepted their offer? Kill Potter and marry Lily?"

" _What?_ " the Potter boy asked, aghast.

The older man looked equally confused. " _Marry_ Lily? Lily would not have married me."

"No," Severus snarled, "she wouldn't. So why would you say yes?"

The older man still looked puzzled. "What would my acceptance have to do with marrying Lily?"

Severus was beginning to feel confused, as well, and it made him nasty. "Nothing," he spat, "nothing at all. Only I thought you might have hesitated to join the wizards who wanted you to _rape_ her!"

" _WHAT?_ " It was difficult to tell who had roared with greater rage, Potter's brat or Severus's older self.

" _What_ did you say?" the older man hissed. "I would never - how _dare_ you! _Legilimens!_ "

Severus was not at all prepared for the attack, and, in that moment, far too upset to raise any kind of shields. He felt the other mind slam into his -

And yet it _was_ his mind, only stronger, more refined, more powerful -

And lonely - and grieving - and tired -

Their feelings bled together in a moment so strange and horrible Severus could not have said, for an instant, who he was. There was darkness and pain and loathing, and despair, unbearable despair -

He saw himself kneeling before the Dark Lord, his unblemished left arm extended, as the Dark Lord lowered his wand to brand him -

Corrupt him -

 _Defile_ him -

He knelt in front of the chipped, battered toilet at Spinner's End, vomiting into the bowl while the blood on his forearm - someone else's blood - smeared on the aged porcelain, staining his arm as if the black snake tattoo had bitten him, and he could _feel_ it, feel the darkness, not clean like the night, but filthy, twisted, dank, like black muck teeming with vermin, writhing within his flesh, inescapable, forever a part of him -

He was _ruined -_

And he saw Lily, pale and so very, very young, laid out in a coffin overflowing with lilies, the smell rising in sickening waves as his Polyjuiced face crumpled with agony -

And the years - the long, lonely, aching years, stretching one after the other in a meaningless waste, as he waited, waited, waited.

And the knowledge, cold and empty, that he would never be happy again.

He could feel the other Severus, as well, the Severus who had seen, quite plainly, the evil in Lucius Malfoy, in Mulciber, in Avery, perhaps in all of them. He could feel the defiance and despair, the ice of Azkaban, the vast empty unknown of a future that had lost all hope of meaning.

Their minds broke apart, their black eyes shying away from each other in mutual anguish. Severus felt tears on his face, and hastily bowed his head forward, so that the greasy tangled mess of his hair covered his cheeks.

"What did you see?" Weasley demanded.

The older man took a deep breath, then another. Severus couldn't bring himself to look at him. The pain of seeing Lily in that coffin was still too keen.

"The Ministry instituted a marriage law," his older self said flatly.

"A what?" Potter's son asked.

"I've heard about those," Weasley said. "They've done it a couple of times before, when it seemed like the Wizarding population was dropping too fast. I think I heard Dad mention that they were thinking about it in the first war -"

"It went to a vote before the Wizengamot," the older man said, "and failed by one vote… in our world." Severus could feel those black eyes on him. "But not, it seems, in his."

"But what is it?" Potter asked.

"The Ministry has decreed that every witch or wizard between the ages of nineteen and forty must marry a magical spouse within one month of the implementation of the law, or within one month of turning nineteen for those who reach that age after the law takes effect."

"They _what?_ " Potter's green eyes were wide with indignation. It made him look far more like Lily than Severus could bear. "But that's - that's - how _could_ they?"

"Furthermore," the older Severus continued, "copulation is both monitored and required."

Potter made a strangled sound, which Severus observed with dim curiosity. He doubted the boy's father had responded in quite that way.

"How exactly do they monitor…?" Weasley trailed off, looking a little green beneath his freckles.

No one answered.

"And… and my mum…" The Potter boy looked between the two Severuses.

"Will be marrying your father," the older man said.

"But what did you mean, about them wanting to - to -"

"They offered Lily to… my younger self… as a wife, should he join them. Naturally, he refused."

"Why?" Weasley asked.

All three of the others glared at him.

"Snape wouldn't do that," Potter said, rather sharply. "He loved her."

Weasley wrinkled his nose. "I know. So wouldn't he want -"

"To rape her?" the older Severus asked, his voice quiet and deadly. "Tell me, Weasley, do you really think me capable of that?"

The boy turned red again, and finally shut up.

"She's still in danger," Severus whispered. He cleared his throat, trying to raise his voice above a croak. "I have to go back."

"So do we," Potter said. "For her and… and for Hermione…"

The older man gazed at Severus for a long, measuring moment, his black eyes impenetrable. But Severus could see, beneath his feigned impassivity, a warring of emotions. He wanted to save them - _both_ of them - and yet the odds of surviving, let alone escaping, an Azkaban swarming with Dementors were almost nonexistent.

"It has to be me," Severus said quietly. He had never been more certain of anything in his life. "I can do it. The rest of you - you would be in the way -"

Weasley and Potter both started talking at once, unintelligibly outraged, but the older man raised a hand to stop them, his gaze fixed on Severus.

"We are all of us veterans of war," he said quietly, "none more so than I. You are a skilled wizard, intelligent, determined, resourceful, and yet you cannot possibly comprehend the extent of your naivete. Despite all you have seen, all you have experienced, you are still - _innocent_ \- in ways you have not yet begun to imagine. You have always been alone." He paused, black eyes boring into Severus. "But it is very unlikely you will survive now, without help."

Whatever fear and resentment Severus might have felt, it was only a feeble distraction from the resolve within him.

"I know what I have to do," he said.

"Do you? Do you believe you can escape retribution from the Dementors, the Ministry, the Death Eaters, even the Order of the Phoenix?"

Severus felt a nervous twist in his stomach, but he glared back at his older self in defiance. "I'll do what I have to do."

His older self did not look skeptical. On the contrary, he looked satisfied. "You will be in grave danger."

"Don't worry," Severus said coolly. "I have a plan..."


	13. Chapter 13

13

Moody made it to Azkaban before Crouch, but only just. Even as he stumped his uneven way up the stone walkway to the gates, he could hear Crouch calling out from his slick Ministry boat for Moody to wait.

Moody pretended not to hear him.

His Patronus, a crested eagle, slid smoothly across the air in front of him, holding the Dementors at a still-less-than-comfortable distance but at least keeping him warm. Or as warm as he could be, on a stormy January day in Azkaban. His thigh was aching above the wooden leg, a weakness he was still learning to live with. It had been three weeks since Voldemort had blown it off during a Christmas attack on a Muggle church. Moody had nabbed two more Death Eaters, but he was still trying to convince himself it had been worth the price. He was slow, much slower than he had been before. He could hear Crouch's crisp footfalls approaching rapidly behind him.

"Auror Moody!" he called out sharply, and this time Moody didn't think he could feign deafness. And that was a damned shame - he had been hoping to get a look at the situation before Crouch stuck his bloodthirsty hands into it.

Turning to watch the other wizard approach, Moody felt a short burst of envy at Crouch's swift, even stride. He'd have to get over that, and quick. He couldn't afford to be bitter. Time to pick his one-legged self up and move on.

"I expected you to wait," Crouch snapped. "Surely you must have realized I would be involving myself personally? An attempted escape by a Death Eater is no small matter."

"Snape's not a Death Eater."

Crouch gave him a cold look. "That remains to be seen."

Crouch's Patronus, a shark, slid jerkily through the air behind him, its icy gaze passing emotionlessly over them all. Moody reigned in his distaste with an effort and growled, "Let's get this over with."

The Dementors darkened the air around them as they approached the gate, where a guard of what Moody supposed were the chief Dementors waited, their robes fluttering in agitation. Even through the silver shield of the Patronuses, Moody could feel the tense edge to their cold, the frustration and hunger that was never far from their sightless, inhuman minds.

They could not speak; their mouths had not evolved for communication, only feeding. Yet they could convey, in their dark malicious way, sentiments that translated themselves to words in minds strong enough to bear them.

At the moment, Moody sensed fury, outrage, vengeance.

 _He has escaped._ That was clear. And then, not a word, but an impression: a fierce, defiant soul, sharp and cold as a knife's edge, intense and strange as winter, deep as a crystal-clear night.

Moody smiled grimly. He wondered what Crouch made of that take on Snape. Not the usual slime and muck, was he?

Of course, they'd already known it was Snape. The instant his cell door was opened by a Ministry key, the linking spell between the cell and the prison records in the Ministry had activated, an extra security protocol left over from the days before Dementors had been entrusted with the prisoners' _care._ Normally, no one paid much attention to those records, but something - they still weren't sure what - had created such a backfiring within the spell that the records scrolls had started duplicating as if struck with a Gemino Curse, filling the records room to bursting before smashing through the door and rolling down the archives corridor in a tidal wave of parchment. On every scroll, one glowing name had flashed.

Severus Snape.

So here they were, investigating the first escape Azkaban had ever known. That in itself was worrying, but far more concerning, to Moody at least, was the use of a Ministry key. There were only a handful issued to the highest-level Aurors, a couple of senior Ministry officials, and the Minister himself. None of those people could have any possible interest in Severus Snape, as far as Moody knew, which meant one of them had been compromised.

Moody's first, but not conclusive theory was that Voldemort had a key and was testing it out, observing the Ministry's response, making sure there weren't any failsafes to endanger the much more precious prisoners he no doubt wanted to release. If, say, the Ministry had cursed the cells to kill any prisoner not released by an actual Ministry employee (something that had, in fact, been discussed, although never implemented), then no doubt Voldemort would want to test that out on someone like Snape before trying it on one of the actual Death Eaters.

Moody's theory, however, was open to amendment, and as the Dementors continued their silent, disturbing communication, Moody had to admit he might be wrong.

 _He had help,_ the dark malice spoke in their minds. Another impression, another soul, this one decidedly feminine, soft yet explosive, hopeful yet hard, obsessively organized yet chaotically anxious, and very, very determined.

Interesting. She didn't feel like any more of a Death Eater than Snape did. You learned to recognize the feel of them, after a while, the thick rot of prejudice, the dark thirst for pain.

"You have the girl?" Crouch asked.

Anger again, and frustration, but also a decided _yes._

"Take us to her."

The Dementors glided away from them, toward the fortress, and Crouch followed with a brisk step that Moody, cursing his cursed leg, could not match. The craggy stairs up to the doorway especially gave him trouble, but he soldiered through it, gritting his teeth and thinking up a dozen jinxes that could slow Crouch down to the pace of a slug.

Crouch's shark Patronus wound its jerky way between the Dementors, clearing a path to the cell where they were holding the girl. As it turned out, Moody didn't arrive too late to miss anything; Crouch was just fitting his key into the lock when he thudded his awkward way up. Moody made a note to check the records when he got back to the Ministry, and see if Crouch's key set off the same Gemino effect as the unknown key had.

The girl was unconscious, surrounded by Dementors, her face buried in a mane of wild, frizzy hair. A bright Gryffindor scarf curved its way across the dark floor. Not exactly subtle.

He and Crouch approached her slowly. The Dementors shied away from their Patronuses, but their fury spiked in black edges all around them, and Moody couldn't help feeling surprised that they hadn't Kissed the girl on the spot.

Then Crouch kicked her over onto her back, and he could see why they hadn't, why they were so frustrated they were practically frothing at their soul-devouring mouths.

The girl had no mouth.

Moody couldn't quite stifle a grin. _That_ was an approach he'd never seen before. He'd known victims to rip off pieces of their robes for makeshift gags, but removing the mouth entirely? Interesting. Very interesting.

Crouch glared down at her disturbingly smooth face with great anger. Obviously the ingenuity of the girl's defense escaped him. Moody suppressed his grin with a great effort and grunted, "We'll have to fix that to interrogate her."

"Yes," Crouch agreed. He glanced at the Dementors. "We will be transporting her back to the Ministry. Take her to my boat."

The Dementors visibly seethed at this, and Moody felt their enraged hiss: _We want her._

"Your wish has been noted," Crouch replied. "Take her to the boat."

Resentfully, the Dementors gathered her in their decaying arms and swept away. Moody hoped, for the girl's sake, that she didn't wake up until long after the boat had left Azkaban behind.

"Let us inspect the cell," Crouch said.

It was easier to keep pace with Crouch here. Crouch's experience with the law was mostly judicial, and, as such, he rarely worked in the field. Moody knew Azkaban like the back of his hand - at least the populated areas - and Crouch had to rely on him to find his way here. Moody couldn't help deliberately slowing his pace just to annoy the man. Crouch would never say anything, of course, but Moody could see the flickering of his shark Patronus's increasingly jerky movements on the walls.

Finally, Moody _clunked_ down the last few steps to Snape's cell. The door was closed, the inside in shadow. Yet, when the light of the two Patronuses swept into the cell, Moody saw black eyes glittering back at him.

"Snape!" Crouch exclaimed, shocked.

Snape, whose eyes had been so wide a moment before, pressed them shut, covering them with his palms for good measure.

"Too bright," Moody muttered. His Patronus glided to the side, out of the boy's direct line of sight, but Crouch's Patronus slid back and forth before the cell without mercy.

"Severus Snape!" Crouch snapped. "You attempted to escape!"

Snape shook his head, still covering his face. He mumbled something.

"What?" Crouch snapped.

"He said 'trial,'" Moody said. "About time he had one, wouldn't you say?"

Crouch shot him a glare, but turned back to the boy. "You left this cell, did you not?"

"Left?" Snape whispered. "Left where?"

Crouch's even mustache twitched in frustration. "There was a woman here - a girl! She tried to help you!"

"Girl?" Snape echoed hoarsely. "There was a woman…"

Crouch leaned forward eagerly.

"... she brought me here. She left me. The Auror."

"I'm not talking about Savage!" Crouch spat. "I am referring to the ill-groomed Gryffindor girl who unlocked this door," he glanced at his watch, "approximately forty-two minutes ago!"

"Forty-two... minutes?" Snape tried to lower his hands, winced at the light, and slapped them back over his eyes. "What day… how long have I been here? Supposed to get a trial…"

" _Answer me!_ "

Snape pressed himself back into the corner. "No girl," he muttered. "No anyone. Just _them._ "

Crouch stared at him, eyes pale and cold in the light of his Patronus. "You expect me to believe that the Dementors are lying?"

Snape finally managed to raise his eyes, as dark as Crouch's were pale. "They lie," he whispered. "They show me things…" He covered his eyes again. "Don't listen to them."

Crouch looked ready to stomp his feet in frustration. Moody was eyeing Snape carefully. The kid was in rough shape - feverish, he thought - but that didn't mean he wasn't lying. He was a clever kid, after all.

Moody would be curious to see what the girl had to say.

Crouch's wand twitched, as if he was considering casting the Cruciatus Curse he had so recently authorized for Ministry use.

"Better take him back to the Ministry," Moody suggested.

Crouch's eyes flashed. "This is not the time for your trial, Moody! This prisoner tried to escape!"

Moody arched his brows. "You want to interrogate him here?"

Crouch's lips thinned. Moody resisted the urge to grin again. The situation was serious, of course, but watching Crouch tie himself in knots was funny, no matter the circumstances.

"Fine," Crouch snapped. "You will escort him back to the Ministry. _I_ shall escort the girl."

Moody again hoped, for the girl's sake, that she didn't wake up any time soon.

Crouch and his shark ascended the stairs quickly, leaving Moody to unlock Snape's cell. Making another mental note to check the records for his own key, Moody slid it into the lock and watched Snape's gaze follow the opening door.

If Moody hadn't been sure Snape was lying before, he was now. That was not the look of a man seeing his first prospect of freedom in three months.

Rather, it was a cool, calculated look, tinged by only the tensest fraction of relief.

"C'mon," Moody growled. "Out you go."

Snape emerged slowly from his corner, his arms wrapped around his chest in the way so many Azkaban prisoners' were. It was the natural response, when left to the constant soul-draining company of the Dementors. People tried to protect their souls in the only way they knew how.

He bit back another grin. Except that girl.

Snape stopped in the doorway of the cell, looking down at Moody's wooden leg. He opened his mouth, evidently startled, before shutting it again.

"That's right," Moody growled. "Your would-be master blasted it off last month."

"My would-be murderer," Snape replied, his voice still hoarse. "How long have I been here?"

"About three months. Happy birthday, kid."

It might have been the light of Moody's Patronus, but he thought Snape paled. Moody knew why. "Nineteen, isn't it?"

Snape hesitated. "Is the marriage law still in effect?"

"Yep."

Snape nodded curtly, then turned away and started climbing the stairs. He was slow, easily as slow as Moody - weak from Azkaban rations and, judging from his wince on every step, sporting some lingering injury to his ribs. Moody should have had that checked before sending him here, but with all the mutilated Aurors he'd barely noticed the boy's wounds. He doubted Crouch would have allowed it, anyway.

Moody's crested eagle swooped close to the boy as they climbed higher, into the cold shadow of the Dementors. They drew back, but Moody could feel their malice directed at the boy, their resentment at his trickery, their lust to punish him for his insolence - his escape.

It wasn't till they were out in the rickety boat, half a mile from Azkaban with no Demetor in sight, that Moody growled, "You want to tell me what really happened?"

Snape shot him a dark, wary look.

"It was a good act," Moody praised, "but if you think I don't know the difference, you need a long, hard look in the mirror, boy. That arrogance could get you killed."

Snape pressed his lips together, but, though he said nothing, Moody could tell he was considering it. Moody leaned back, letting the boy chew on his thoughts for a while.

It wasn't long before Snape was shivering, his robes too thin to weather the vicious wind careening across the North Sea. Moody cast a couple of charms to warm things up, and that, of all things, seemed to soften the kid.

"She's not a Death Eater," he said. Moody was lucky one of his spells had blocked out the roaring wind, because he wouldn't have caught that hoarse admission otherwise.

"No?"

"I don't know who she is," Snape muttered. He looked uncomfortable. "But she seemed… kind."

Moody arched his brows. Snape flushed deeply. "I only mean that she wasn't there to kill me."

"Very kind," Moody agreed.

Snape wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, glowering, but added, "She didn't seem to know quite where she was."

Moody snorted. "She had a key, didn't she?"

"She said someone gave it to her. But she didn't know about the Dementors."

Moody snorted again. "Knew enough to curse her own mouth off."

Snape gaped at him for a moment, then, with an impressed look that he quickly tried to hide, amended, "She didn't expect there to be Dementors there. She was confused."

"Confused, eh?"

Snape flushed again. For a moment, Moody thought he was going to give up, but evidently the boy was determined to provide some kind of defense for the girl, because he finally continued, "She didn't seem to have any sort of plan. She knew my name, but was surprised by my appearance. She couldn't cast a Patronus. I don't think whoever gave her the key prepared her for what would happen when she used it in a fortress full of Dementors."

Moody wasn't an expert at Legilimency, but he had a good sense of when he was being lied to, and Snape wasn't lying. He wasn't telling the whole truth, that was obvious, but the implications were pretty clear.

"You think she was Imperiused?"

"I was," he pointed out, with a great deal of bitterness.

Moody considered that. It fit in with his theory that Voldemort was testing the prison's defenses, but he failed to see how Voldemort could expect to hear about the results of the experiment if there was no escape plan for the girl. But then, how had the girl gotten into Azkaban in the first place, if she couldn't cast a Patronus? Had someone else been with her, observing?

Possible, he mused, possible. But it would have been hasty to draw a conclusion so fast. Better to wait until he could talk to the girl.

Assuming Crouch would let him.

* * *

Severus let his gaze wander over the gray, wind-whipped waves, but his attention was all on Moody. It was hard to read the scarred face, yet Severus was _almost_ certain the Auror had taken the bait. He had felt the gentle, clumsy probe of unskilled Legilimency across the surface of his mind, and he had made no effort to Occlude. Moody knew he wasn't lying, even if he had twisted the truth around. And Moody was still, as he had been in Malfoy Manor, inclined to give Severus the benefit of the doubt.

Severus had been counting on that.

That Hermione Granger was still alive and un-Kissed was an unexpected and excellent relief. His older self had made it very clear that, in the unlikely event that she was still in possession of her soul, she was an ally and her safety was of equal importance to Lily's. In fact, he had stated that she would be vital in ensuring Lily's survival and in ending the war.

He had thrown that out casually - _ending the war._ As if it were merely a necessary step in the process. A task to mark off the list.

Severus didn't think he could value the girl's safety as much as Lily's (if it came to a choice between the two of them, he knew exactly who he'd choose), but if he was about to undertake the mad goal of defeating the Dark Lord (which all three of the otherworldly wizards had assured him was absolutely necessary if he was to preserve Lily's life), then he would do his best to treat Granger as an ally.

Which brought him to step two of his plan, the step his older self had surprised him by adding. It was only necessary in the event of Hermione Granger's continued existence, but, now that that had been established and Severus had laid the groundwork for her escape, it was time to make sure she could play along.

Pretending to clutch his broken ribs, Severus slipped his hand into his robe and fingered the fake Galleon the older Severus had given him.

The Galleon was the girl's creation, apparently. Perhaps he should not have been so stunned that she had spelled her own mouth off her face to survive the Dementors. It was an ingenious little device, operated most efficiently with a wand but, in the hands of a skilled wizard, by simple touch as well. Severus couldn't deny that he was impressed by the girl's cleverness. It had been obvious his older self was, as well.

Hunching over slightly, he pressed his fingers to the cold metal and felt it warm, not with the heat of his fingers but with magic. Concentrating hard, he willed one word onto its surface: _Imperio._

There was a sharp, almost painful burn as the spell activated. Then the metal was cold again.

Hunching down over the edge of the boat as if he might be seasick, Severus eased the coin out of his pocket and, when Moody glanced away, dropped it into the sea - out of Moody's reach, out of Crouch's, out of anybody's. Then he leaned back in the skiff and closed his eyes.

He had given Hermione Granger all the help he could. Now it was up to her to use it.


	14. Chapter 14

14

 _Fred was lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall, and with him Lupin, and Tonks, and others, so many others… Hermione felt the fear and the horror and the devastation seize her, along with the certainty that nothing could ever, ever make this right again. These people would be dead forever; this pain in her chest would last forever. There was no escaping this brutal, inevitable moment. It was permanent. For the rest of all time, these people she had loved would be dead._

 _Harry was lying in Hagrid's arms, limp, pale, lost to her forever, lost to all of them… They had lost. Voldemort's inhuman face was mocking, triumphant, but all Hermione could see was her friend, skinny and broken, the boy who had saved her from a troll in a bathroom so very long ago. She had given up everything to protect him. Her family, her Crookshanks, her future, her life. She had failed. She had failed everyone…_

Hermione awoke to the feel of hands digging through her clothes. Her response was immediate and visceral. A greater witch than she might have lashed out wandlessly, blowing up her opponents like balloons (or even like bombs). She, on the other hand, opened her eyes and punched the man straight in the face.

It was only after her fist connected with the angular jaw hovering over her that she realized the man was a woman. This was no comfort whatsoever; Bellatrix Lestrange had been a woman, and Hermione wouldn't have hesitated to punch her, had she ever been given the chance.

The woman, to Hermione's dismay, didn't seem to have been hurt. She gave Hermione a raised eyebrow and said, "Muggleborn, I take it?" before resuming her search.

Hermione tried to open her mouth and tell her off, only to feel skin stretched straight across her teeth where her lips should have been. A shudder shook her frame. The Dementors -

Harry and Ron -

The woman had noticed her shudder, and said coolly, "Almost finished."

Hermione breathed fast and deep through her nose, but the panic that was flooding her needed more air, _much_ more air. She wanted to gulp and gasp and possibly scream, but there was no way for any air to get in or out, and she felt a sense of desperation she hadn't experienced since the war, a terrible, brutal, hopeless chaos.

But this _was_ the war. The _first_ war. Voldemort was alive.

She really did try to scream, then. A strangled sound twisted in the depths of her throat. The woman seemed to realize what was wrong, for she shouted over one shoulder, "Robards! You figured out how to sort out her mouth yet?"

Robards, Robards. Even in her panic, Hermione knew that name. She racked her brain, racing through lists of Death Eaters, dead and captured, but no, that wasn't right -

Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office after Rufus Scrimgeour was named Minister of Magic.

They were Aurors. Hermione's panic decreased, but only by the smallest margin. The Ministry ranked just barely below Death Eaters, in her experience. But the Aurors at least wouldn't murder her on the spot, and Hermione knew they weren't _all_ bad. Tonks had been an Auror. So had Moody. Come to think of it, the stern face of the woman above her looked vaguely familiar, too.

She would be younger now, Hermione reminded herself. Trying to imagine this woman twenty years older, Hermione recalled the Auror Guard placed around Hogwarts during her sixth year. Yes, she had been one of them. Savage, that was it. Gwen Savage. Tonks had spoken highly of her.

Another wizard came into view, this one unfamiliar, but she supposed he must be Robards. He was about Savage's age, in his thirties, with dark hair and a thick beard, and a very formidable frown.

"Of course I know how to sort it out," he said, rather snippishly. "Crouch said to wait until the interrogation."

"There won't be an interrogation if she suffocates," Savage replied.

Hermione, sensing what was needed, inhaled a few quick times in a panicked way, trying to wheeze as much as possible.

Robards gave her a foul look, but with a twiddle of his wand her mouth was back in place. The gasp she sucked in then was entirely genuine.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He scowled at her. "Polite for a Death Eater, aren't you?"

"Death Eater?" Now seemed like a bad time to burst out laughing, so Hermione fought it back, although a few hysterical tears might have slipped out. She struggled to sit up. "I'm not a Death Eater!"

She seemed to be in a small cell, but she was not in Azkaban. The smooth walls looked more in the style of the Ministry. An Auror holding cell, then.

Even as she twisted around to get a better look, a coin slipped out of the pocket Savage was trying to turn out and rolled across the floor with a little clink. Robards plucked it off the floor with a gloved hand. In fact, both he and Savage were wearing dragon-hide gloves - to protect from curses, Hermione supposed.

"Think I'll take that," Robards taunted, flipping the Galleon into the air and catching it again.

It wasn't just _a_ Galleon. It was _the_ Galleon. Hermione felt her eyes widen, and hoped he thought it was only because she was outraged he would steal from her. If he took a closer look -

"Give it here," Savage commanded, and Robards, with a scowl, tossed it to her.

Savage was no thief, nor was she distracted by any urge to taunt Hermione. Either of those would have been preferable to the reality of her holding the coin up to her eyes and saying, "That's no Galleon."

Hermione half-expected Robards to make some kind of sarcastic remark - he seemed the type - but he only crouched down beside Savage to examine it with her.

"Imperio?" he said, taking it from Savage and frowning at it.

Hermione felt a wave of confusion. _Imperio?_ She had not spelled that, which meant it had come from Snape. But why would he -

The Aurors were both eyeing her suspiciously. "What is this?" Savage asked.

And, in a flash, Hermione understood.

"I - I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know - I don't think - how did I get here?"

They both arched their eyebrows at her. Hermione was panicked enough that there were still tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and she deliberately thought of how it had felt when the Dementors had seized her, dragging her out of the crevice and bending over her, their hoods falling back -

A frightened whimper burst out of her, entirely authentic. A few helpful tears slid down her cheeks.

They were still eyeing her carefully, so she allowed herself to dissolve into full hysteria.

"Where am I?" she demanded through tears. "What happened to my - where was my - I couldn't _breathe_ \- and I don't remember - but there were Dementors! I was in Azkaban, wasn't I? Why? Why was I in Azkaban? Tell me!"

The man, Robards, looked distinctly discomfited by this meltdown. Savage was still watching her carefully, but there was an unmistakable hint of concern in her eyes.

Then a familiar _clunk-clunk_ met Hermione's ears, and a broad, lurching figure appeared in the doorway.

"Moody!" Hermione squealed, this time with absolutely genuine emotion. She clapped her hand over her newly-restored mouth, cursing herself for the slip and desperate to hide the smile that had blossomed uncontrollably across her face. He was alive!

He looked different. Younger. There were fewer streaks of gray in his mane, fewer scars on his face, and, most noticeably, both of his eyes were still their natural brown.

She didn't think she had ever been so happy to see anyone.

"Recognize me, do you?" he growled.

Hermione spoke through her hands, hoping he mistook her tears of happiness for tears of terror. "You - everyone knows you!" she gasped, hoping that was true.

Robards rolled his eyes. A tiny hint of amusement flickered in Savage's grim face.

"Famous, am I?" Moody growled. "And who're you?"

The Ministry had records - so many records! How was she supposed to pick? She could have named only a handful of young witches from the first war, and as all of them had been in the Order of the Phoenix, chances were Moody already knew them all.

"Hermione Granger," she whispered. It was a risk, but if she was caught in a lie it would be much, much worse.

"We'll be checking that," Moody said. "Gryffindor, wasn't it?"

Hermione felt a thrill of dread as she saw her scarf wadded up on the floor. "N-No," she whispered. "That was from - a friend. I didn't go to Hogwarts."

Their eyebrows all shot up. Remembering that Savage had already guessed she was Muggleborn, Hermione invented, "My parents didn't want me to go. We heard about… _him…_ So I went to Beauxbatons instead, to be safe."

"Did you now?"

Hermione nodded, racking her brains for everything she had ever read or heard about the school. "Madame Maxime has been making exceptions for Muggleborn students," she whispered. "Accepting them from other countries… Mostly from the countries under Durmstrang's district, but she said she would take me, too…"

She could tell from Moody's expression that he had heard of this, and also that it wasn't commonly known. She would have to thank Fleur on hands and knees when she got back to her own world. And possibly forgive her for being, well, Fleur.

Now if only Madame Maxime would refuse to provide the Ministry with records of her Muggleborn students, Hermione might just be in the clear - where her school was concerned.

"Why'd you come back to Britain?" Moody asked.

"I was trying to convince my parents to leave," Hermione whispered. "I thought maybe Australia…"

She could see that this, too, lent her credence with Moody. Australia had been the most common destination for fleeing Muggleborns during the first war. It was why Hermione had chosen it during the second.

"Your parents are Muggles?" Moody growled.

Hermione nodded. She saw Savage give Moody a look as well, a silent confirmation.

"What were you doing in Azkaban?" Moody asked.

A crisp, angular figure suddenly appeared behind Moody. "I believe I made it clear that I wish to conduct this interrogation personally."

Hermione felt another pang of shock, much less pleasant than what she had felt for Moody. Barty Crouch, Sr. _He_ would be Head of the Auror Office now, wouldn't he? And he was the one who had authorized Auror use of the Unforgivables… and sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial.

Hermione should have felt terrified, but instead she felt a strong, sharp burst of anger. This was the man who had sacked Winky! And imprisoned his own son!

His son, who might even now be deciding to join the Death Eaters. Who would one day murder the man in front of her, and impersonate the man beside him.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She needed to be smarter than Crouch. She needed to get herself out of this situation so she could _go home._

Or save Harry's parents.

Or end the war.

She hadn't decided yet. In any case, she needed to be somewhere other than _here,_ in front of this paragon of injustice with his horrible little mustache.

Moody had been watching her face, and looked like he was suppressing a smirk. "You heard of him, too, Granger?"

Hermione gave him a wide-eyed, hopefully fearful look, and nodded.

"Bring the prisoner to the interrogation room," Crouch ordered, with a cold look at Moody. "There will be no further questions until then."

Moody nodded at Robards to escort Hermione. Savage followed Crouch out of the cell. Hermione could hear her reporting in a cool, unbiased tone, "She's Muggleborn, educated at Beauxbatons to avoid the war. She's been trying to smuggle her parents out of the country to Australia..."

Whether Crouch believed this or not, Hermione couldn't tell, but she had the distinct impression he'd be more willing to listen to it from her than from Moody. She felt a rush of affection for the grizzled man. Of course he wouldn't like a cruel, prejudiced hypocrite like Crouch.

Robards waited until Crouch's and Savage's footfalls had faded away, then tossed Moody the fake Galleon. "She had this on her."

Moody examined it as closely as Savage had done. Hermione was profoundly relieved he didn't have his magical eye at his disposal. She suspected he would have deduced its function within about a second if he had.

" _Imperio,_ " Moody read, his gaze swiveling up to her in much the way it would have with the magical eye. Hermione tried to look scared rather than guilty as Robards gripped her arm and led her out of the cell and down a dimly lit corridor.

Moody trailed behind them, his wooden leg thudding on the floor. He seemed less comfortable with it now than he had when she'd known him. She wondered how recently it had happened.

To either side, other cells bordered the corridor. They had almost reached the end when Hermione heard a strange muffled thumping, combined with a high-pitched, painfully familiar voice: " _Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!_ "

She gasped.

"What's that, Granger?" Moody growled, stepping close. Apparently "no further questions" was an order he found it impossible to follow.

"I -" Hermione hesitated, not sure how much to say. But if Dobby was here -

"I - I think I know that voice," she said. "D-Dobby…"

Moody's eyebrows flew up. "You know the Malfoys' elf?"

"I-I think so," she whispered. "He - he sounds so familiar! But why would I have met…?"

"Why indeed?" Moody echoed.

"Why is he here?" Hermione asked. She couldn't see Dobby through the small, barred window, but judging by the repeated muffled thumps, he was banging his head on something (something that, thankfully, sounded rather soft).

"Blew up five Aurors," Moody said. "Malfoy's orders, of course."

"But then it wasn't his fault!"

Moody snorted. "Think I don't know that? Why do you think he's still alive? Trouble is, he still belongs to the Malfoys. Can't let him go, or he's obligated to go find them."

"So set him free!"

Moody gave her a pitying smile. "Only a Malfoy can do that."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "So trick him. Get him to throw some clothes in Dobby's direction."

Moody's eyes widened almost to the size of their future magical counterpart. Hermione again had to fight the temptation to roll her eyes. After all, Harry had come up with the idea when he was twelve.

"We might just try that, Granger," he said. He nodded at Robards. "Better not keep Crouch waiting any longer. Wouldn't want him getting cross." He gave a nasty laugh.

Robards snorted in response, tugging Hermione along the corridor while the pitiful sounds of Dobby punishing himself echoed behind them.

The interrogation room was small, bare, and intimidating, but still nothing compared to the despair and waste of Azkaban. Savage was waiting outside, while Crouch had taken a seat on one side of a small, disturbingly bloodstained table. Robards chained Hermione to a chair on the other side. A sheet of parchment with a Recording Quill poised above it lay on the table between them.

"Leave us," Crouch ordered.

Hermione's nerves spiked as Robards shut the door, leaving her alone in the room with Crouch. She wasn't sure which was the greater danger: that he wouldn't believe her, or that she would lose her temper and bite his head off.

"What were you doing in Azkaban?" Crouch asked. In front of him, the quill scratched his question down.

Hermione shivered, the memory of the Dementors still fresh enough that the reaction was real. "I-I don't know."

Crouch's lips thinned to a narrow line beneath his narrow mustache. "What is your relationship with Severus Snape?"

Hermione's mind raced. What could she possibly say? "I don't know."

Crouch's eyes darkened in fury.

Hastily, Hermione added, "I think I know the n-name. It sounds familiar. S-Severus. It's a s-strange name. But I don't know… how I know."

"Where did you acquire _this?_ " Crouch dangled her precious and hard-won Azkaban key in front of her face.

Hermione gulped. "What is that?"

Crouch's eyes flashed again. "It is a key to the cells of Azkaban, as you well know!"

Hermione let her voice go shrill. "A _key?_ But why - I don't have a key! I didn't even know there was a key!"

Until two months ago, at least.

"Do you expect me to believe," Crouch fumed, "that you have no knowledge of how you came by this key, how you came to be in Azkaban, or how you came to help Severus Snape escape?"

Hermione shivered. "I-I don't know! I only remember…" She trailed off, sniffling on purpose.

"Yes?" Crouch snapped.

"There was… a boat. And I think… there was somebody else… but I don't know. I was somewhere else before… maybe? I thought I heard…" Inspiration struck her suddenly. "I thought I heard _your_ name…"

"My name?"

"Something about… the Ministry." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember everything she'd read about the first war (which was a very great deal) and wishing she knew what year it was, so she would know who had already been captured and who hadn't.

"Rookwood," she whispered.

"Rookwood? Augustus Rookwood?" Crouch's voice was sharp.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Something about… spying… inside the Ministry."

Crouch was on the edge of his seat now.

"And they said… something… about… about your son?" She blinked at him, feigning confusion.

"My son?" Crouch's eyes were like knives. "What about my son?"

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head, burying her face in her hands. "Something… something about ruining you. About... turning him... against you."

" _Who_ said this?"

There was an obvious choice. "There were two wizards," she whispered, "and a witch. She was the worst. She… hurt me." Hermione remembered the Cruciatus Curse, remembered staring up into Bellatrix Lestrange's hateful face and begging, begging as she had never in her life begged before, and felt rage and terror and shame swell up in her eyes.

"She was beautiful," she whispered. "But… terrible. _Evil._ The men were… brothers. One of them kissed her… I think they were together."

"Their names!" Crouch demanded.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut again, pretending to try to remember. "One of the men called the other something… Sebastian… no… _Rabastan._ "

"Rabastan Lestrange," Crouch spat. "We have long suspected…" He seemed to gain control of himself only with an effort. "They gave you the key?"

Hermione shivered. "I-I think so. I think they… told me that name. The funny one. Sev...erus."

"They wanted you to help him?"

Hermione felt a pang of alarm. "No," she said decisively. "They wanted… something about a kiss. _The_ Kiss. The Dementors…"

Involuntarily, but very conveniently, she found herself crying again.

"There was a voice in my head! It said I had to be Kissed!" she cried out. "And I - I couldn't cast a Patronus - it wouldn't come! The voice wouldn't let me! So I-I-I-" She pressed her hands over her mouth. "I got rid of it."

"And Snape?"

"I… don't know. He was… sick… and they came. As soon as I unlocked it… they came. I don't know about him. The voice said they were supposed to Kiss him, too."

Crouch was eyeing her sharply. "You are certain? They did not want you to save him?"

"No," she said again, stubbornly. "They called him… an enemy."

That might have been taking it a little far, but fortunately Crouch didn't seem to think so.

"Very well," he said, his cool voice slightly breathless. "You have been… very helpful. Your cooperation will be noted."

"Can I go home?" she whispered as pitifully as she could manage.

"Yes," Crouch said. He stood abruptly, looking almost ruffled, and began gathering the parchment that had recorded their conversation. His eyes flickered again over everything she had said. Still looking slightly breathless, he rapped sharply on the door. "Robards will see that your belongings are returned," he said as the Auror entered the room.

Robards looked extremely surprised. "Free to go?"

"Yes," Crouch said. "And tell Savage to release the Snape boy. We have no further need of him. Oh, and be sure to remind him that he has precisely one month to comply with the marriage law."

Hermione, who had started fidgeting in her chains, froze. "With the _what?_ "

Crouch turned a cold, surprised gaze to her. "With the marriage law, Miss Granger." His eyes narrowed. "How old are you?"

Hermione gaped at him. "Marriage law? What marriage law?"

At the darkening look on Crouch's face, Robards interjected, "She's been in France, remember. They haven't adopted the law there… yet."

Crouch's face cleared. "In future, Miss Granger, I suggest that you stay informed of the news of your _own_ country… regardless of where you choose to reside. Robards, I trust you can inform her of the details. I need to speak with the Minister, excuse me."

Crouch strode away, his shoes rapping on the floor, leaving Hermione in utter shock behind him.

"He can't be _serious?_ " she breathed, looking at Robards. "It's not a _real_ marriage law? Not like the Emergency Marriage and Childbearing Act of 1792? Or the Magical Marriage Statute of 1435? Or -"

"About like those, yeah."

Hermione gaped at him for ten full seconds in silence. Then she exploded.

* * *

Severus knew his Ministry cell was supposed to be intimidating and uncomfortable, but after the cold, empty misery of Azkaban, the dry, dimly lit room felt like luxury. He was still anxious, of course, and the prospect of a trial in front of the Wizengamot had his stomach in knots, but just the taste of the air - ever so slightly bitter from the crackling torch on the wall - had brought back memories of Hogwarts and warmth and, despite the associations with Potter and his friends, a small measure of hope.

Feverish as he was, he could almost imagine he was awaiting detention in the dungeons. Perhaps he would be required to scrub cauldrons, or disembowel toads, or, if he was lucky, pluck the wings off Egyptian scarabs before removing their minuscule eyes...

His peaceful reminiscences were abruptly shattered by a high-pitched shriek.

"BUT THAT'S _BARBARIC!_ "

Severus hastened to the door and peered out through the small, barred window. He couldn't see who had screamed, but he had a strong suspicion.

"It's _hideous!_ Atrocious! A violation of every decent and sensible social standard! A violation of sexual and reproductive rights, a violation of EVERYTHING!"

"Miss Granger -"

"AND IF YOU THINK," she screamed, "THAT I WILL BE LOSING MY VIRGINITY EVEN ONE _SECOND_ BEFORE I'M READY, THEN I'LL MAKE DAMNED SURE A MARRIAGE LAW IS THE _LEAST_ OF YOUR WORRIES!"

Severus flushed red, from embarrassment, amusement, and intense sympathy. Admittedly, he had never thought of the matter in quite those terms, but expressed that way, he entirely agreed with the sentiment.

"NO!" she shrieked, "I am not THREATENING you! I AM GOING TO REFORM YOUR ENTIRE WRETCHED GOVERNMENT, YOU BLOODY CAVEMAN!"

Yes, he could see why his older self liked this girl. She had a certain quiet subtlety that would be indispensable in any delicate situation.

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU DIDN'T WRITE THE LAW! YOU'RE ENFORCING IT, AREN'T YOU?"

Severus sat down again. There was no need to stand so close to the door. In fact, a few additional feet of distance was probably healthier for his eardrums.

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!"

"What's going on here?" Savage's cool, stern voice cut through a brief pause in the girl's tirade. Severus could hear her long stride passing by his cell door, and caught a brief glimpse of her towering form.

"... just found out about the law…" a male voice answered.

"Ah, yes," Savage replied, distaste in her tone. "All the more reason to move to Australia, isn't it, Miss Granger?"

Severus distinctly heard the girl huff. Evidently the presence of a voice of reason had taken the steam out of her rant.

"Crouch says she's to be let go," Robards said, then, to Severus's disbelieving delight, he added, "Snape, too."

"Good," Savage said. "He's right over here."

Severus stood up at her approach, standing out of the way of the door as it swung inward. "Out," Savage ordered.

The other Auror, a bearded man, shot Severus a dirty look. "I'm to remind you about the marriage law."

Severus glanced at the red-faced, wild-haired girl beside him. "How could I forget?"

She glared fiercely at the whole lot of them.

"Come on," Savage said, "We're releasing you both. Get the wands, would you, Robards?"

With one last scowl at Severus, the man strode off.

"Your other belongings are in Evidence," Savage said. "Come sit at my desk, I'll have them retrieved."

Severus and the Granger girl followed her down the corridor, Severus with a slight wince on every step as his ribs ground together, the girl with a furious expression that suggested she'd have liked to see the entire building go up in flames.

"Here," Savage said, flicking her wand at a few spare chairs that scraped their way across the floor to a semi-organized desk. "Sit." She rummaged in a drawer for a moment, pulled out a sheaf of official-looking parchment, and handed it to the girl. "You might want to read that."

As Savage walked off, Severus leaned close to the girl and read the ornate purple title: "Magical Marriage Law of 1978."

The girl buried herself in the text, her eyes flickering rapidly from line to line. Severus didn't bother. He knew well enough what it said, and how little chance he stood of complying with it.

Several minutes passed while the girl violently shook out the lengthy scroll and Severus avoided the suspicious glances of the Aurors working at desks around them. Finally, the girl rolled the parchment up, dropped it on the desk, and muttered, "Barbaric."

"Quite."

Her gaze flew up to his. "What is today's date?"

Severus scowled. "January 9, 1979."

"Twenty years," she muttered, "to the day. Oh, happy birthday, by the way. But really, what an awful present."

"Breaking me out of Azkaban?" he asked quietly.

She flashed him a quick grin, which faded to a scowl in a moment. "I meant this," she muttered, tapping the scroll with such force that she creased the parchment.

Savage returned at that moment, levitating two boxes ahead of her. One, Severus saw, contained the girl's Gryffindor scarf and her coat. The other seemed to be full of charred objects.

"What we could salvage from your house," Savage explained. "Bits of books and photographs, mostly."

Severus examined the contents of the box with no small measure of grief. A few scraps of his precious books and blackened fragments of a few photos of Lily - in most of which Lily had been entirely burned away - were all that remained of his belongings.

The Granger girl had donned her winter gear (which, aside from the scarf, was all notably Muggle), and was watching him closely.

"You can find all the books again," she said, not hesitating to peer into the box.

"Yes, thank you," he snapped, pulling the box away from her.

She looked hurt, then guilty, then resigned. Sighing, she looked at Savage and said, "How long would you estimate I have to leave the country?"

Savage gave her a grim look. "I wouldn't push it past a week, and sooner if you can manage it. We've already made about twenty arrests for violations."

"Only twenty?"

"Most others have left the country already. It's been bloody great for our population, this law."

"Cheer up, Savage," Robards said, strolling up. "You're exempt."

"Exempt?" the girl asked sharply. "How does one become exempt?"

"One becomes one of the best Aurors in Britain," Robards replied, smirking. "Can't have her off on maternity leave, can we?"

Small spots of pink colored Savage's cheeks. Coldly, she inquired, "The wands?"

Robards drew two lengths of wood out of his pockets. Severus and the girl both leaned forward eagerly.

"One month," Robards said, casting a dark glance at Severus. "Or I'll have this back again."

Severus glared at him, itching to snatch the wand from his hands.

The girl didn't resist the temptation. "Oh, honestly," she snapped, grabbing the wands out of his fist. "Don't be such a bully."

Robards looked like he wanted to take the wands back, but Savage smirked. Granger handed Severus his wand. _Finally._ The feel of the straight, dark handle beneath his fingers did more for the cold weight in his chest than chocolate ever could have.

"Well," the girl said, turning to Severus, "shall we?"

"Thought you were going to your parents' house?" Robards asked sharply.

"I am," she replied, in icy tones. "But it's my understanding Severus's house was burned down. I'm sure he would like a place to stay, wouldn't you?"

Severus would have approached the subject with about a thousand times more subtlety, and _not_ in front of the Aurors, but it was rather too late for that. "I suppose," he said.

"Then it's settled." She turned on her heel and stomped away, leaving Severus to grab his box and, with an exchange of raised eyebrows at Savage, follow the Gryffindor girl out.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The girl, to Severus's surprise, seemed to know her way around the Ministry. She led him straight to a lift, scowled at the curious glances of the other passengers through a series of jolting stops, then took off across a large atrium, glancing briefly at its rather saccharine fountain before heading to another lift and ushering Severus inside.

'Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic," a cool voice said. "Come again soon."

"I think _not,_ " Granger muttered.

The lift slid upward. Severus felt almost dizzy with the movement, but then, just keeping his eyes open was making him feel dizzy at the moment. The pain in his ribs was only worsening, and he suspected, from the sheen of sweat on his skin, that his fever was approaching its peak. It was hard to keep a grip on the box of his burned belongings, and even harder to stand upright, but he didn't want the girl to know how much he was struggling. Gritting his teeth, he forced his way out of the broken Muggle phone booth they had ascended into and surveyed the filthy, poorly lit Muggle street outside.

He was just about to ask the girl where they were when she gripped his arm without warning, wand in hand, and Disapparated.

They appeared with a _crack_ in a dark woodland clearing, heavy with snow and silent in a soft, peaceful way that might have been pleasant if he hadn't been fighting the urge to faint. His box started to slide from his arms, but the girl caught it before it could spill everywhere.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, carefully lowering the box to the ground before looking up at him with wide, anxious eyes. "I shouldn't have Apparated like that - it's just so _awful_ there, you have no idea -" Her face was pink and very distressed. "We had to break in _twice_ during the war, and the first time Sirius _died_ -"

"Sirius _Black?_ "

"Yes. And there's no need to look so pleased, it was absolutely horrible."

Of course. Severus sneered. He should have known she'd like Black as well as Potter's rotten son.

She didn't seem to like the look on his face at all, for she turned away and began rummaging in a pocket, pulling out a small beaded bag and proceeding to stick her entire arm into it. Obviously, it had been Extended. When she drew her arm out again, she was clutching a long, thin bag that Severus identified as a tent only after she had waved her wand and erected it.

"You keep a tent in your purse?" he asked, frowning at her.

"It's mostly habit," she said, "from the war, when we were on the run. We lost that tent when the Snatchers got us, but I bought another last fall… Come on, let's get inside."

Severus had a host of questions (What were Snatchers? Why had she been on the run? Had the Aurors searched her bag?), but, as he stumbled through the snow and followed her into the tent, he didn't quite trust himself to ask them. His head was spinning, hot and cold, slow and fast, and he had the suspicion that this would all make more sense if he could just get his hands on a Fever Reducer.

It was with an overwhelming sense of surreality that he watched her pull that very potion out of her purse. He hadn't spoken aloud, had he?

But no. The Fever Reducer was only the beginning. With swift, orderly movements, she set out about a dozen healing potions on the tent's small table, followed by a cauldron, a kit of basic potions ingredients, a bottle of dittany that must have cost more than he had made in a month at the apothecary, and a book of healing spells so enormous the table creaked under its weight.

"I _think_ that will be enough," Granger said, biting her lip and surveying about five hundred Galleons' worth of healing supplies. "If only I had chocolate - but this will have to do."

She turned to face Severus, who was swaying in the middle of the tent with only a vague idea of what was happening.

"Sit," she commanded, and he sat. It was rather easier than standing.

He heard running water, and saw her washing her hands in the tent's tiny sink. Then she filled a bowl with water, grabbed a few cloths from a cupboard, and returned to sit in front of him.

"Hmm," she murmured, surveying his face closely. Her brown eyes were warm and focused, two vivid points in a blur of white and brown. When she touched his chin with one finger to tilt his face to the side, he couldn't tell if her skin was hot or cold.

"We'll start with that fever," she said decisively. Uncorking the vial of Fever Reducer, she held it out to him.

Despite the haze swelling in his mind, he examined the potion carefully before drinking it, which seemed neither to surprise nor offend her. The potion was, in fact, perfect. Moreover, it had been brewed with the improvement he had devised in school, the added dash of cloves that halved the time needed for the potion to take effect.

"Did I make this?" he asked, bewildered and a little indignant at the idea that someone _else_ might have discovered the improvement.

"No," she said, "but you taught me how to brew it."

He had taught her?

" _Drink,_ Severus."

It was very strange to hear her say his name, particularly in such a tone: warm and concerned and almost motherly, in a way that his own mother had never been. He drank.

His surroundings came into sharp focus within seconds. So did the pain.

Gritting his teeth, he glanced at the rest of her healing supplies. She was already selecting a disinfectant.

"Honey or tea tree base, do you think?" she asked.

"Honey."

She chose a jar of the rich, golden ointment and set it beside the bowl of water. Dipping a cloth in to wet it, she leaned toward Severus. He jerked back.

"I can do that," he said, holding out his hand.

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "You're shaking."

He was. He might have been embarrassed, if his attention hadn't been so fully focused on the witch in front of him, who, without allowing any further argument, had begun dabbing the warm, wet cloth over his cheek.

"How did this happen?" she asked.

Severus didn't entirely want to answer her, but he remembered well how she'd shrieked at Robards, and decided compliance was probably wise, at least for now.

"I was in a duel with Lucius Malfoy."

"Why?"

"I refused to join the Death Eaters."

Her hand froze, her gaze darting to his, wide-eyed. "You _did?_ "

He scowled at her. She looked slightly abashed, but also amazed.

"In my world," she began, then paused. "Oh, I haven't even explained, have I? I'm going about this all backward. Have you read about Ekrizdis yet?"

"Yes," he said, then added, "and I know you're from another world. I went there, briefly."

"You - you _went_ there?" Understanding flooded her face. "With Harry and Ron? Are they all right? Are they still -"

"Your reckless friends are back in your world. They wanted to come and save you, but my older self and I agreed that would be foolish, all things considered."

A look of profound relief swept over her face. He assumed it was for her friends until she said, "He was there? Sna- I mean, your older self?"

He found it odd that she would call his older self "Snape" but call him "Severus," but only said, "Yes."

She resumed her gentle dabbing, still pale with relief. "Thank _heavens._ You have no idea how much trouble it is to keep an eye on those two."

"I did form some idea."

She gave him a rueful grin. "But you came back? Then what?"

"I hid in my cell until the Aurors arrived."

She looked deeply impressed, which pleased him rather more than it should have. "You tricked them. And the Galleon - was that you? Did he give you -"

"Yes." He arched a brow at her, which was rather less effective than usual as she had just begun patting it with her cloth. "Still, I'm rather curious how you managed to convince Crouch to let you go so quickly."

She waved her free hand dismissively. "I just named a few Death Eaters he wouldn't have known about yet. I told him they were plotting against his son -"

"Are they?"

Her mouth twisted dangerously. "He's going to join them."

That surprised him greatly. Barty Crouch, Jr. had been a couple of years behind him at Hogwarts, and though Severus could not claim to have known him, he _did_ know that Crouch had never bothered to make friends with those Slytherin students who were known to be aspiring Death Eaters (himself included).

"Why didn't you?" Granger asked, fixing him with that amazed look again. "Join them, I mean."

Severus shifted uncomfortably. "They implemented the marriage law."

Her expression was suddenly grim. "I wondered. All that rubbish about only marrying wizards…" She scowled fiercely. "I can't _believe_ it passed. It's - it's worse than medieval. It's outrageous."

Severus didn't reply. It was obvious she had concluded that the Death Eaters' involvement in passing the law was more than enough reason for Severus to have rejected them, and he didn't feel particularly inclined to correct her. It had been bad enough seeing the look on his own, older face - and on Lily's.

"Did Snape say anything else?" she asked. "About… well, about a plan, or anything like that?"

Severus watched her rinse the cloth in the bowl of increasingly dirty water, considering his answer. It was almost inconceivable that the girl would want to do anything but go home, especially now that she knew about the marriage law, and yet his older self had been certain she would become his ally.

"He said you would help me save Lily," he said finally.

Granger, who had been drying her hands on another cloth, slowed her movements, her expression passing rapidly from fear to anger to sadness. She did not, however, look surprised.

"Of course I will," she said quietly, her face very pale and resigned.

Severus didn't know what to say, so he sat in silence as she unscrewed the jar of disinfectant, trying not to flinch as she began daubing the stinging substance over his skin. The burn lasted only a few seconds; then his skin felt fresh, clean, renewed. He couldn't help a wriggle of discomfort when she rubbed it into his earlobe, and he was certain he saw the shadow of a smirk flit beneath her tired expression.

"You are not obligated to help me," he said finally.

She didn't answer right away. Setting aside the jar of ointment, she cleaned her hands again, then faced him with a very earnest look.

"Of course I'll help you," she said again. "I know how much Lily means to you - to you and to _my_ Snape. And to Harry. I'll do everything I can to help."

Severus stared at her for a long moment, then prompted, " _But?_ "

She gave him that rueful grin again. "No _but._ I'm just… tired. We fought for so long… and then we _won._ And it was _over._ And I thought -"

Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes. Severus flushed and looked away.

"I thought I would never have to go through anything so horrible again," she whispered.

Severus felt a sharp pang of pity for her, but didn't reply. Her war was over, but his _wasn't._ As horrible as his life had been up to that point, he knew that none of it, the abuse of his father, the bullying of Potter and his friends, even the past few months in Azkaban, were as horrible as what might be coming. He could still see the older Severus's memory of Lily, pale and beautiful and _gone,_ lying in that coffin in the last pale rays of sunlight that would ever touch her skin before she was buried in the cold, dark ground.

Nothing could be worse than that. _Nothing._

The Granger girl sniffled, then said in a brisk tone, "But of course it won't be as bad this time around. I know how to kill him. It's just a matter of navigating this world without getting caught." She made an annoyed noise. "And of avoiding this stupid marriage law. Honestly, aside from everything else, it's very inconvenient."

Severus snorted. "You don't say."

He thought it might be safe to look at her again. To his relief, there were no more tears in her eyes, only a lingering flush in her cheeks. She was frowning at his chest.

"You'll - er - need to take that off," she said, in a somewhat higher-pitched voice than she had used a moment before. "So I can look at your ribs. They _are_ broken, aren't they?"

"Yes…" Severus admitted reluctantly. The idea of stripping in front of this girl - in front of anyone - was fairly appalling. "Do you even know how to fix broken ribs?"

Granger bit her lip. "I've never tried. I've been studying here and there, of course," she said, patting her gigantic healing tome affectionately. "I can't tell you how many times I wished I knew more, during the war. Really, it's absurd they don't teach us at least basic healing spells in school." She scowled for a brief moment, then took a deep breath. "But I've healed broken fingers and broken noses, and I never had any trouble with that. The spell for healing ribs is very similar, and the theory is the same. I'm sure I wouldn't make it _worse,_ " she added, in what he assumed she meant to be a reassuring way. "And I think it would be better to at least try before going to St. Mungo's. I know You-Know-Who has at least one Healer working for him there." Her expression darkened. "We'll have to do something about that."

Severus was less concerned with the Dark Lord's infiltration of St. Mungo's than with the immediate problem of his ribs.

"You could kill me if you cast the spell incorrectly," he pointed out.

She looked annoyed. "Don't be silly, of course I won't. The spell could only go _that_ wrong if I mispronounced the incantation, and I'm certain I won't. Now take that off."

Severus was still very inclined to argue, but drawing deep enough breaths to express his very logical and reasonable concerns was proving difficult due to the grating pain in his side.

"Fine," he growled, but though he was determined to intimidate her with his darkest, most formidable glare, the effect was rather ruined by the way his fingers were fumbling with his buttons. He didn't think he had ever voluntarily removed his clothes in front of anyone. And that incident with Potter and Black was more than fresh in his mind; he could practically hear the laughter echoing around him.

Hermione Granger, however, did not laugh. She turned an alarming shade of pink and refused to look at him as he slid his robes down to his waist and shrugged out of the shirt he wore beneath them.

Really, was he that repulsive?

"You'll find it rather difficult to heal me if you can't even look at me, Granger."

She took a deep breath, stole a tiny glance in his general direction, and turned an even brighter shade of red.

It took all of Severus's willpower not to cross his arms defensively over his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking another deep breath. "It's just - you were my teacher for six years, you know. I _know_ you're a different Severus Snape, but it's just so - so _inappropriate._ "

"I was your teacher?" Severus asked, gaping at her. "I was a _teacher?_ "

She erupted in a short, nervous laugh. "Yes. Can you imagine? You hated it. I'm sure you hated us all. Dumbledore thought it would be the most strategic place for you, you know, so you could pretend to spy on him for Vol- for You-Know-Who, while really it was the other way around."

Severus had gleaned some hint of this from his other self's mind, but to hear it stated so baldly was still alarming. "I was a spy?"

"Oh, yes. You were _phenomenal,_ you know. We wouldn't have won the war without you. You were awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class. We tried to get First Class for you, but, well…" She almost worked up the courage to look at him, but not quite. "You were a Death Eater."

"Indeed." Severus's mind was reeling. Perhaps he should have felt pleased to have been awarded an Order of Merlin, but Severus could only remember the empty grief in his older self's mind, the sense of meaninglessness and loss.

The girl finally seemed to overcome her sense of impropriety, or whatever it was, and looked at him.

"Oh, my…" Her gaze widened in horror as she stared at his torso. "Why on _earth_ didn't they let you see a Healer? No, don't answer, I know why. It was Crouch, wasn't it? That utter…"

Whatever Crouch was, she seemed unwilling to verbalize it. Severus, following her gaze to his chest, could think of quite a few suitable terms. He was skin and bones, but that wasn't strange; he had never been much more. Yet he could see the dented curve of his ribs, the dark bruising that, even three months later, seemed as fresh as if the injury had occurred a day ago. It should not have surprised him. Azkaban made it nearly impossible to heal.

The girl reached out to him, stopped, then said, "Turn toward me, please. I need to see."

Severus twisted slowly in his seat, trying not to shift his ribs too much. The girl raised her wand and he flinched.

"Honestly," she huffed. "It's just a diagnostic spell. And I'm _not_ going to kill you, so relax."

Severus did not relax, but he didn't flinch again. Her wand wove a complicated pattern in the air over his skin, but whatever diagnostics the spell revealed were evidently for her eyes only. Watching her face carefully, he saw nothing to alarm him, only an intense, focused resolve that made him feel slightly more confident in her abilities.

She, at least, believed she could do this.

Turning away from him suddenly, she flipped through her giant spellbook, scanned a page, nodded to herself, then raised her wand to his ribs again.

"Hold still," she said unnecessarily.

There were no elaborate wand movements this time. She gave one of his ribs a short, sharp tap, and he felt - and heard - it snap back into place.

After performing the diagnostic spell once more, she said with a satisfied look, "It worked perfectly. Just three more to go. Hold still."

Three taps later, and Severus could run his fingers along his ribs without finding any irregularities. The bruises were still discoloring his skin, but after briefly consulting him about the healing potions she had at her disposal, she chose a Tissue Repair Potion that also bore traces of his own improvements. Downing it quickly, Severus almost sighed as the ache vanished completely from his side.

He almost allowed himself to relax as the girl smeared a burn salve across the few small burns he had sustained from Lucius's green fire.

"Now I need to get to your scalp," she said, frowning at the top of his head, "so we'll need to wash your hair."

He was tense and rigid in an instant, his face twisted in a snarl. "Very amusing, Granger."

She didn't look remotely put off by his reaction. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "You have infected cuts all over your scalp, and I thought I saw bits of glass. What on earth did he do, anyway, throw you out a window?"

"He threw a window at me," Severus replied, glowering. "And my hair is -"

"- filthy," she said, "of course it is. You've been in Azkaban for three months. You can wash up in the shower, and then I'll clean out the last of these cuts and heal them all."

"That is _not_ necessary," Severus said, yanking his shirt back on and messing up the buttons.

"It _is._ You're _infected._ "

"I'm fine."

"Men!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "Are you all so ridiculous? What is the point of cleaning out _some_ of your cuts if you won't let me clean them _all?_ Do you _want_ to die of septicemia? I'm sure you'll be _so_ helpful to Lily when you're wandering around delirious with your skin turning purple!"

He flushed. "I can take care of it myself."

She snorted, then snatched up her purse. "Fine! Take care of it! I'm going to get some bloody chocolate, and when I get back those cuts had better be clean. Or _else._ "

She stomped out, her hair frizzing madly. He waited to hear the _crack_ of her Disapparation, but it didn't come. Puzzled, he crept to the entrance of the tent and peered out.

She was holding her wand in the air, casting what he realized immediately were protective wards.

For several minutes, he watched her, ignoring the blast of cold from the snowy wood outside. Muggle-Repelling Charms, Invisibility Charms, his own _Muffliato_ spell, and about a half-dozen other enchantments interwove to form a circle of wards that might actually have rivaled his own. There were even two he didn't recognize. He was about to call out and ask her about them when she lowered her wand with a sharp, impatient movement, took a step outside the wards she had just erected, and Disapparated.

And he felt a strange emotion at the realization that she had been unwilling to leave him alone without protecting him as thoroughly as possible.

Torn between curiosity about the wards and nervous guilt over what would happen if she returned and found he hadn't obeyed her instructions, Severus hovered in the entry to the tent, undecided. He knew she was right about the cuts on his scalp, and, moreover, he wasn't certain he could dig the glass out himself. He had managed to pick most of the slivers out of his face while he was in Azkaban, but searching his scalp had been more difficult, especially after the way his hair had tangled in the wind over the North Sea on the journey to Azkaban.

Still, he wasn't afraid of the girl, and he wanted to know what she had done with the wards (he hadn't ruled out the possibility that she had trapped him inside). So, clutching his robes tightly around him in a pitiful defense against the cold, he ventured outside the tent and began examining the two wards he hadn't recognized.

Ten minutes later, he stepped back, torn between awe and an almost disturbed feeling.

The girl was not nearly as kind-hearted as he had believed.

The first of the two wards was simple and rather amusing. It forced anyone who came into contact with it (aside from Granger or himself) to stand in place and sing the entirety of the Muggle national anthem at the top of their lungs. Severus had seen variations of the ward before (other common choices were yodeling, reciting sonnets, and performing all eighteen acts of Romano the Unromantic's wizarding opera _Merlin and Nimue_ ; Severus's preferred variation of the spell involved pronouncing potions ingredients backward). The purpose, of course, was to force any intruder to provide ample warning time for the inhabitants of the tent to pack up and leave.

It was the second ward that intrigued him the most. It had two layers: a trigger, and a resulting defense. The trigger, Severus had determined after several minutes, was the Dark Mark.

The defense was a face full of acid.

Not enough to kill. Blind, perhaps. Certainly disfigure. Severus knew that Death Eater masks were spelled to resist many mild jinxes, but the girl's spell would eat right through that. And if anyone but her tried to dismantle the ward, there were about a half dozen other defenses to ensure they didn't get very far. Severus had not had time to identify them all, but he didn't think they were any kinder than the first. In fact, he was _almost_ certain that one of them was castration.

He wanted to know where she had learned such a ward. Not at Hogwarts, certainly. Severus had learned wards with two, maybe three layers of anti-tampering defenses, but no more, and none quite as vicious as this. If he had, Lucius Malfoy might not have been able to waltz up to his front door.

Who _was_ this girl?

Feeling slightly more nervous now than he had before, Severus retreated into the tent and obeyed her initial command: to shower. The shower itself was small and cramped (she had obviously purchased one of the cheaper magical tents available; Severus had once heard Lucius mention that his had a _tower_ ), and the only soap available was pink and smelled of roses.

But it was that or the shampoo, which could easily have been tampered with.

Severus examined the bottle carefully. It was magical shampoo ("Detangling Potion included"), which he supposed she must need for her riotous hair. He knew he needed it, too, at the moment, but years of avoiding Potter's attempts to sneak potions into his shampoo made him intensely paranoid about accepting this offer from the girl.

Then again, if she wanted him to lose all his hair, she could probably just curse it off.

Scowling, Severus sniffed at the shampoo, then allowed a single drop to fall on his palm. Nothing happened. He rubbed it on his arm. The fine black hairs there were unaffected. Feeling rather foolish, he squeezed out some more and lathered it into his hair.

Nothing happened, except a rather slippery feeling that seemed to unknot about half of the tangles in his hair. His hair, however, still seemed to be intact, and just as black as ever.

He relaxed, and allowed himself to enjoy the shower.

The hot water stung on his scalp - she was right, the cuts were infected, and he could feel little painful slivers of glass - but his skin thrilled at the heat, and he felt a fierce, sensual pleasure at the sight of his pale skin emerging from beneath the grime of Azkaban. He was free. The endless nightmare that had suspended him out of time and out of life had finally fallen away. Was it really just this morning that he had been contemplating scraping his wrists open on the ragged wall? The thought seemed wholly alien now. He was still thin and weak and tired, but he was _free._

It was long after the last stains of Azkaban had disappeared down the drain that Severus finally shut the water off. The mirror evidently had Anti-Fogging Charms on it, for he could see himself clearly in the glass, gaunt, flushed from the heat of the water, but still sallow, with unpleasant shadows under his eyes. A few scraggly hairs had managed to sprout from his chin and upper lip, and he cast around for a razor, scowling when all he found was a pale blue affair that was obviously designed for a woman. Retrieving his wand from the shelf beside the shower, he carefully trimmed the unwelcome facial hair with a Severing Charm, leaning back in satisfaction when he managed it without cutting himself.

It wasn't much, but it was better than looking like his unkempt father.

Dressing swiftly, he opened the bathroom door only to stop in his tracks, completely enveloped in the scent of chocolate.

Even the hot water of the shower couldn't compare to _that._

"I've made you a cup," Granger said. "And I picked up some food, I'm really not much of a cook."

Severus smirked. That did not surprise him in the slightest. Joining her at the table, he reached for the proffered cup and inhaled the rich, dark smell of hot chocolate.

It was hard not to swallow it all in one go.

When he had consumed everything she set in front of him with completely uncivil haste, she came and hovered over him, peering at his scalp.

"That shampoo never gets rid of all my knots, either," she said, sounding exasperated. "And you've still got some glass here. Will you let me get it out?"

Her tone was slightly stiff, but Severus, full of chocolate and food, was rather more inclined to be nice to her.

"If you must."

That clearly pleased her. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with a comb. He glared at it.

"It'll be easier than picking through your hair with my fingers," she pointed out.

That was true. He tried to give an indifferent shrug, but he was certain she could tell the idea of a girl approaching his hair with a comb was unwelcome to him. He had the feeling she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Boys," she muttered. "Girls comb each other's hair out all the time, you know."

Severus briefly imagined the look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he had ever suggested such a thing, and snorted.

Her reply was equally eloquent: "Hmph."

Then she started picking at his hair with the comb, and it was… not unpleasant.

He sat, tense and surprised, while she gently worked out the tangles her insufficient shampoo had failed to unknot. He had a distinct memory of his mother combing out his hair, tugging and yanking impatiently, making it clear without words that she would have rather been doing almost anything else.

Granger, for all that she seemed a rather impatient sort of person, had dedicated herself to this particular task with a quiet, unhurried gentleness that put him far more on edge than if she had started ripping his hair out. He couldn't understand why she was doing it. He recognized, of course, that she was genuinely (and probably reasonably) concerned about the infection from his wounds, but this… Her movements were almost _tender._ It was disturbing.

"So I was your teacher?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes, through sixth year," she said. Her voice was softer than it had been before, as if the gentleness of her fingers had gentled her. "You taught Potions at first, but in my sixth year you taught Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"And in your seventh year?"

"I was on the run." She sighed. "I was planning to go back and finish my N.E.W.T.s this year, but there's been so much else to do. And once you and I started researching -"

"Researching?"

"Yes, didn't he tell you? We've been researching the gates, Ekrizdis's gates. Although I don't really think they were _his._ But once I started working on that, I didn't want to have to stop to go back to school." He heard, rather than saw, the grimace on her face. "Ron and Harry couldn't believe it. I _love_ school, you see, I always have. Ron thought it was all your fault, of course."

"Is that why he dislikes me?"

"Well, that, and you were a rather unkind teacher."

That didn't surprise him in the slightest. The idea of teaching a horde of filthy children was abhorrent to him. He couldn't imagine how Dumbledore had convinced him to do it.

"Why were you researching the gate?"

"Gates," she corrected. "There are three, a Gate of Time, a Gate of Death, and a Gate of Worlds. We used the world gate to get here. The Gate of Death is how Sirius died."

Severus could think of a dozen amusing comments to make about that, but he didn't think she would appreciate any of them. "You still haven't told me why you were researching them."

"It started with the Lestrange brothers -"

"Rodolphus and Rabastan?"

"Yes." Her voice was slightly venomous, and her hands paused in his hair for a moment until she controlled herself. "They were trying to bring Volde- I mean, You-Know-Who back through the Gate of Death. We stopped them, but we never found out exactly how they planned to do it, or even whether it was possible. We thought it would be a good idea to start investigating."

"Just you and I?"

"Yes." She was smiling, he could hear it in her voice.

"Why?"

"Well," she said, "I suppose because we both thought it was interesting."

That was hardly an answer. Severus waited until her comb had been dislodged from a tangle to turn and look at her. "Whose idea was it, yours or mine?"

She looked surprised. "It was mutual. I had read _The Enigma of Ekrizdis_ when we were trying to stop the Lestranges and I wanted to discuss it with you. It all sort of evolved from there."

Severus stared at her, trying to comprehend how a research partnership with this girl had carried as much emotional value to his older self as Lily. The older wizard had been insistent that he protect them both, that he do as much for "Miss Granger" as he would do for Lily. But _why?_

"Are you friends?" he asked suddenly.

Her eyebrows flew up. "No."

He clenched his jaw. So, yet again, he had attached himself to a girl who cared less for him than he did for her.

But she continued, in a slow, thoughtful tone, "I would like to be, someday. But you were thirty-one when I was just eleven. I think it might be a long time before you see me as an equal, rather than a child. And you're… well…"

"What?" he asked dangerously.

"You're very difficult to get to know. That is - I know a lot of things about you, like about Lily and how you were a Death Eater, but you've never _told_ me anything about yourself. _Ever._ You're very, very private. Our conversations are always brilliant, always fascinating, but they're always intellectual. You never talk about how you _feel._ "

"Is that necessary?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes! How can I know who you _are_ if you don't show me? Of course I know that you're brave and brilliant and determined and cunning, but I don't know how you feel about things, what you think about when you're alone -"

"What I think about when I'm _alone?_ "

"I don't mean it like that!" she cried, outraged and embarrassed. "I mean - what matters to you? What do you want out of life? What do you think about when you're not thinking about research? Are you hopeful about the future, or are you miserable and lonely and trapped like you were during the war? I'm not a Legilimens, I don't _know._ How can I be your friend if I don't know things like that?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't finished. "Of course I can guess. If you were anyone else, I probably _could_ know. But you Occlude so often that it's almost impossible to tell. And you're so _formal._ I have no idea what you're like when you're _relaxed._ All I've ever seen of you is what you allow me to see. How can we be friends?"

Severus hadn't intended to unleash this kind of rant, and for a moment had no idea what to say. Finally, frowning at her, he said, "But you _want_ to be my friend?"

"Of course I want to be your friend!" she snapped. "You're the most interesting person I've ever met!"

He arched his eyebrows at her. She huffed and ordered, "Turn around, I wasn't finished."

He allowed her to return to combing out his hair, contemplating what she had said. Obviously, she had no idea that his older self cared for her. Nor had anything she said provided Severus with any clues as to _how_ his older self cared about her. Was she like a daughter? A pupil? Did he fancy her? He couldn't imagine it was the latter, not if he'd known her since she'd been eleven, with him twenty years older. And he had felt what his older self felt for Lily. The man still loved her. He would always love her.

But he must, in some way or other, love this Granger girl, too, or he wouldn't have told Severus she was as important as Lily.

As the comb slid through his increasingly smooth hair, Severus supposed he could understand, or at least begin to understand, why he would care about her. She was easily as tempestuous as Lily, but she was warmer and gentler, and probably fiercer as well. He also couldn't quash the traitorous thought that she was more intelligent than Lily, who had been the brightest witch in the school come seventh year.

Severus shied away from that line of thought. He didn't like comparing the two. There was no comparison. He loved Lily, and Granger was… an ally. Whatever else she might be to his older self.

And yet… It was difficult to imagine Lily treating him like this, combing his hair, picking glass out of his scalp, healing him. He wished he could imagine it, her warmth and gentleness, but their friendship had never been like that. She had been insatiably curious, and he had been eager to please her in whatever way he could. Her smiles had set him on fire, but she had granted the same smiles to everyone else, never just to _him._ Of course, there was no reason to believe Granger wouldn't be equally liberal with her kindness, but her words were still ringing in his head.

 _You're the most interesting person I've ever met!_

But she had been talking about his older self, not about him. She didn't know him; he was not the Severus Snape of her world. He had never taught or spied or won wars. The day Lucius had abducted him, he had been intending to flee the country. He was not the hero who had earned the Order of Merlin, Second Class.

Then again, he also wasn't the bastard who had gotten Lily killed. And if he had his way, no one ever would. She would die of peaceful old age at one hundred and ninety-two, surrounded by obscene quantities of nauseatingly adorable great-great-great-grandchildren, none of whom bore the faintest resemblance to her wretched husband, who had, perhaps, died of some tragic accident a century before.

Severus didn't need a bloody Order of Merlin. He just wanted her to _live._

And Granger had promised to help him, so he'd do his best to make sure she lived, too.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Hermione couldn't help congratulating herself on getting through the night without having a panic attack. Well, there had been that brief panicked moment at the Ministry, when she had first woken up - and she supposed the seconds before she had Transfigured her mouth away had been uncontrollably terrifying as well - but these last few hours, with Severus, were another sort of challenge entirely.

Though he was undeniably different from the Snape she knew, he was also the same. She felt as if her Snape had suddenly been stripped of about fifty layers of emotional warding, baring his innermost soul to her (admittedly very curious) scrutiny. And not just his soul. She wasn't sure if she felt stranger about seeing his chest or touching his hair, but in any case, she knew she had crossed boundaries her own Snape would have abhorred her for violating.

And yet here Severus sat, gradually relaxing under her touch, his eyelids drooping sleepily as she smeared dittany into his scalp. He was like a dark, skinny, infinitely more bedraggled Crookshanks, ready to tear everyone apart until somebody rubbed him behind the ears.

Hermione hastily banished the smile that had sprung to her face, but too late.

"Something funny?" Severus asked, eyes no longer sleepy.

"I was thinking about my cat."

He frowned at her, jerking away from her fingers. "I am not a cat."

"I know you're not," she said impatiently. "Hold still, I've almost finished."

He couldn't have been too angry with her, because he sat perfectly still as she healed the very last cut. Even before she finished, his eyelids were starting to droop again.

"Bed," she commanded. "I'll clean up."

He was obviously too sleepy to muster up any real indignation. He swayed when he stood up, then stumbled with an uncharacteristic lack of grace over to the bottom bunk and collapsed, his tattered black robes billowing out around him like wings. Hermione had to crush the thought that he did, in fact, look rather bat-like, and occupied herself instead with cleaning up the mess they had made.

A plate full of bloody glass splinters, several bloody cloths, and a bowl of very bloody water awaited her, hideous reminders of the war that was now her responsibility _again._ She meant to clear them up immediately, but something about them, about the blood, made her start to shiver.

It was stupid. She had been healing Severus for hours without any effect. But she was alone now, and the blood was everywhere, and she was shaking.

 _It'll pass in a minute,_ she told herself, remembering Neville comforting her in the hall. Had that only been yesterday? Would she ever see him again?

It did pass, or so she told herself. She tried to pretend that the clattering of dishes in her hands was due to her weariness, not the fact that she was trembling in horror. She cleaned everything up and washed her hands, and then, just as she thought it really had passed, she burst into tears.

It would have been embarrassing if Severus had woken up, but he didn't. After three months in Azkaban with all those injuries, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if he slept for a week. Even so, she tried to quieten her sobs until she was just sniffling every minute or two, though the trembling hadn't stopped.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help him. Of _course_ she wanted to help him. No matter how sharp or defensive he was, she had seen what he was underneath: bruised and scared and even skinnier than she had been after months on the run. She doubted she had ever met anyone, not even Harry, who needed looking after as much as this boy, who had shied away from her touch not out of fear of pain, but fear of gentleness.

And yet - she meant nothing to him. To _either_ of them. Snape, her Snape, had volunteered her to save Lily without hesitation, and his younger self had no qualms whatsoever about risking her life. She wanted to believe Snape had volunteered her out of a high estimation of her abilities, or even out of confidence in her goodness, but she couldn't help feeling - no, _knowing_ \- that if her and Lily's positions had been reversed, he would never in a million centuries have encouraged Lily to risk her life for Hermione.

It wasn't that she was jealous. She didn't need Snape to care more for her than he cared for Lily. But she was - upset? Insulted? Hurt?

She was hurt.

Hurt that he would put her through this again, hurt that his impulse was to protect Lily, only Lily, and to sacrifice her if that was what it took. She knew the war had made him cold and hard in ways that she herself could (hopefully) never be, but she had thought, in the months they had spent researching together, that they had at least become, if not friendly, then at least fond of each other. Fond enough that he would hesitate before throwing her to her very probable death.

Hermione didn't delude herself about her chances. She had survived the war on luck and Harry's mad ability to escape any bad situation, no matter how deadly. Though she was very intelligent, defensive magic (aside, perhaps, from wards, which she had studied with even greater alacrity after the war) had never been one of her strengths, and her first impulse in any situation was to freeze or cry or both. Years had passed, but she was still, _always,_ that scared little girl cowering against the wall of the girl's bathroom, unable to flee or fight or do anything but wait for the boys to save her from the troll.

Of course, she had fought to overcome that weakness. She had mastered the spells. She was certain she knew far more about the _theory_ of defense than Harry did. But that was her problem: she could _think_ about defense, and he could actually _do_ it.

The weakness galled her. It had been a minor annoyance in school, when her grades had, for once, _not_ been the best in the class, something that at the time had horrified her. But now, as an adult - as a soldier - the weakness both terrified and enraged her. She didn't want to need to be _saved._ She especially didn't want to need boys to do the saving.

More than anything, though, she really didn't want to die.

Entering the magical world had, admittedly, mitigated that fear. Wizards had proof of souls, proof that existence continued after death, something that neither she nor her parents had believed possible. It was profoundly comforting to know beyond any doubt that death was _not_ the end. And yet - it was an end. The end of all she had known, the end of all her hopes and dreams, the end of all her potential, and Hermione had always known that she had _immense_ potential. She didn't want to lose it.

She didn't want to lose her life.

Yet here she was, prepared, yet again, to throw herself into a war that could easily leave her as nothing more than a nameless Mudblood corpse, one more victim of the war wizards seemed doomed to repeat over and over and over again throughout the centuries.

And it was _her_ war - she had told Harry that once. She was Muggleborn, and she had to fight for herself. The passion and conviction of that had sustained her through all their months on the run, through all the terror and the despair and everything else they had suffered. It should have been enough to sustain her now.

It wasn't.

She was afraid.

There was Dolohov, cursing her in the Department of Mysteries. There was Greyback, leering at her in the forest. There was Bellatrix, torturing her. Bellatrix, telling Greyback to take her if he wanted her -

And then the battle, and Harry in Hagrid's arms, Harry dead -

Harry had won in the end, of course. But there was no Harry in this world. No Boy Who Lived, no savior. Only Hermione Granger, and a much younger, infinitely more vulnerable Severus Snape.

Well. It would have to do.

Wiping her eyes, Hermione glanced over at the sleeping boy (and how strange it was, to think of Severus Snape as a _boy,_ like he was Harry or Ron). The edge of his face was just visible beneath his damp hair, tired and pale and yet visibly relieved, even in sleep. Relieved because of her, because of her presence in this world.

And what would this world become, without her? Severus would never hear the prophecy. Perhaps there would never _be_ a prophecy. With the marriage law, James and Lily would marry at a different time, would probably conceive at a different time, and even if they _did_ conceive on schedule, the biological likelihood of the exact same sperm fertilizing the exact same egg was simply ridiculous. Unless the universe really operated according to Trelawney's rules of destiny and doom, it simply wasn't going to happen.

A change had occurred in the unfolding of this universe's time, and nothing, from this moment forward - no, from the moment the marriage law was voted in - would be the same.

If Harry and Ron hadn't made the idiotic decision to come here, and if she hadn't made the desperate choice to follow them, Severus Snape might have died of his wounds in Azkaban. All of his potential, all that he could have ever become, might have been lost.

Harry had insisted that changing this world could be a good thing. Maybe he was right.

But what about her world? What about Crookshanks, abandoned again? What about her parents? Would anyone even think to tell them? Would they ever be able to forgive her, for fighting not one but _two_ wars, for leaving them yet again for a world that they could never understand - this time _literally_ a different world?

As she had in Alice's bathroom, Hermione wanted nothing more than to go home, to be safe, to be held and taken care of. She didn't want to be responsible for this again. She didn't want to be alone, with only a moody boy for company.

She let the fear roll over her, the regret, the helplessness. Then she sniffled again, pulled a notebook out of her beaded bag, and started planning.

When she finally climbed up into the top bunk, she slept only an hour or two at a time, waking in cold bursts of fear and sweat, her nightmares full of Dementors and Death Eaters, of trying to scream only to find her mouth was gone, of being locked away in Azkaban with Greyback leering through the bars and Bellatrix hiding in the shadows just behind her.

"Granger. _Granger._ Hermione!"

She started awake, gasping for air through her mercifully intact mouth, to find Severus standing beside the bed, his eyes just level with the upper bunk where she was sleeping.

"It was just a nightmare," she said, swallowing back the urge to sob.

"I deduced as much," he replied.

Hermione sat up, her bushy hair brushing the canvas roof of the tent, and awkwardly climbed down the ladder of the bunk bed. She was trembling, but she ignored Severus for the moment and clumsily made some hot chocolate for both of them. He accepted his wordlessly and sat with her at the table.

Hermione waited until the hot chocolate had begun to calm her down before speaking, in what she hoped was a cool, businesslike voice.

"I've started writing a list of the things we'll need to do," she said, pulling the notebook she had left on the table last night toward her. "But first - do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Severus looked startled. "The Dark Lord made a Horcrux?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "He had made seven by the time we defeated him."

" _Seven?_ But no one -"

"I know," Hermione said. "He did, though. I don't think he has quite that many now. If I'm not mistaken, he has five. A ring, a locket, a diadem, a cup, and a diary."

"The Dark Lord kept a _diary?_ " Severus asked, revolted.

"Yes, back when he was plain old half-blood Tom Riddle, amusing himself with basilisks and patricide."

Severus stared at her. She sighed. "The diary records his memories of opening the Chamber of Secrets when he was still at school. He petrified several students, and killed one - Moaning Myrtle -"

"The Dark Lord killed Moaning Myrtle?"

"Yes. Well, technically he had a basilisk do it for him, but seeing as he controlled the creature, I think we ought to count it against him, don't you?"

Severus continued to stare.

"The problem is, I don't know exactly where some of his Horcruxes are, now. At some point in time, You-Know-Who gave the diary to Lucius Malfoy for safekeeping, but I don't know if that's happened yet. It's the same thing with the locket - he used Regulus Black's house-elf to hide it in a cave sometime during this year, but I'm not sure when. And he put the cup in the Lestranges' vault, but I don't know if that happened during this war or during the next one -"

"What do you mean, 'the next one'?"

Hermione fought off a wave of exhaustion. She really wished she had gotten more sleep. But Severus, who had spent the last three months getting his hope and happiness sucked away by the Dementors, was staring at her with avid, alert intensity, and she forced herself to get a grip.

She told him everything. About the prophecy, about Lily dying, and about Voldemort's curse backfiring and the decade of peace that had followed before Voldemort had begun making bids to return, first with Quirrel, then with the diary, then, finally, with Wormtail's help. It was here that Severus first interrupted her.

"I know that name," he said, frustrated. "I just can't remember -"

"He's Peter Pettigrew," she said flatly.

He gave her a truly shocked look. " _Pettigrew_ served the Dark Lord? What use would _he_ be? To _anyone?_ "

"More use than probably any other Death Eater," Hermione said grimly. "He betrayed the Potters to You-Know-Who. They were living under the Fidelius Charm, and he was their Secret-Keeper -"

"He was _what?"_ Severus was on his feet. "They made _him_ their Secret-Keeper? That little -"

"- rat?" Hermione offered. "That's his Animagus form."

"He's an _Animagus?_ " Severus gave her a suddenly suspicious look. "Are you _certain_ we're talking about the same Peter Pettigrew?"

"Quite certain," Hermione replied. "He, James Potter, and Sirius Black all became Animagi at school to help Remus Lupin with his transformations. Pettigrew only managed it with help from the others, he could never have done it on his own, and even so, all he could manage was a rat." She grimaced. "Which, really, should have been a clue to the others."

Severus seemed too stunned to say anything.

"Pettigrew isn't dangerous because he's any kind of great wizard. He's not. But he's treacherous, and cowardly, and more than willing to kill innocent people to protect himself. He blew up a dozen Muggles to fake his own death after he betrayed the Potters, and framed Sirius for it. Crouch threw Sirius into Azkaban without a trial, and he was there for twelve years before he managed to escape."

"He _escaped?_ "

"Yes, he used his Animagus form to slip out. The Dementors couldn't sense him as well when he was an animal."

Severus's mouth was twisted in distaste. "And Pettigrew? He succeeded in bringing the Dark Lord back?"

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "Which brings us to the second war."

Severus listened without interrupting as she detailed everything she knew of the Death Eater's actions during her fifth and sixth years, but when she got to the day of Dumbledore's death, she stopped.

"What?" he prompted. "Did Lucius's son try to kill him again?"

Hermione hesitated for a long moment. "No. What happened… we didn't really understand at the time. It was terrible, maybe the worst thing Dumbledore did -"

"The worst thing _Dumbledore_ did?"

Hermione sighed. "He was already dying, because of the curse on the ring. So he made you kill him in front of the other Death Eaters so they would believe in your loyalty."

Hermione didn't think she had ever seen Severus's eyes so wide. " _I_ … killed Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

His reaction was sudden, brief, and entirely unexpected. He burst into laughter.

"It wasn't funny!"

"No," he said, and there was suddenly an edge in his eyes and in the curve of his mouth that was almost frightening. "No, I imagine not."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare. "After that was when Harry, Ron, and I went on the run. And you… you became the headmaster."

He grinned, a wild, angry grin. "I was the headmaster?"

"Yes," she said. "And by all accounts you're the only reason none of the students died that year. There were other Death Eaters on staff who would have been happy to make the purebloods practice the Killing Curse on their _less pure_ classmates, but you kept things under control."

Some of the edge faded from his face then. "And I presume you and your dunderheaded friends went Horcrux-hunting?"

Hermione fought back a smile at this description of Ron and Harry. "Yes. And we won, ultimately. But there was a terrible battle, and a lot of people died. I think we should try to avoid that, if possible."

A small smirk played at the corner of Severus's mouth. "That does seem preferable."

"Which brings us back to my list," Hermione said. "The way I see it, we have two main objectives. Obviously, the first is destroying the Horcruxes, because we stand no chance against You-Know-Who while they're out there. The second is neutralizing as many Death Eaters as possible, especially the ones the Ministry doesn't know about, like the Healer I was telling you about earlier."

"What about Lily?" Severus asked sharply.

Hermione gave him a surprised look. "So long as You-Know-Who never hears the prophecy, she shouldn't be in any special danger."

"She is," he insisted. "Because of the marriage law."

Hermione frowned at him, confused. Though she was hesitant to broach the subject, she couldn't help risking, "I would have thought - er - that she could find...well… someone…"

Severus gave her a cold look. "She's marrying Potter. They might be married already for all I know. But she's still in danger." His expression was suddenly tense. "Lucius suggested… that the Death Eaters might murder Potter… and give Lily to someone else."

Ah. So _that_ was why he hadn't joined them. "But if you've refused -"

"Someone else might want her," Severus said harshly, as if the words were ripped from him against his will. "Someone else might request -"

Hermione felt cold. "Is there someone particular you're worried about?"

Severus's jaw clenched. "Any of them, now. They might do it just to punish me." He paused, then added. "Mulciber, perhaps. Avery. Maybe others."

Hermione remembered again the way Greyback had leered at her, and felt the chocolate churning in her stomach. Trying to keep her feelings under control, she pulled out her self-inking quill and added a third objective to the list: "Protect Lily." Then she added a sub-bullet: "Abolish marriage law?"

Severus snorted. "Ambitious, aren't you?"

Hermione shot him a glare. "Unless we can defeat You-Know-Who within one month, which I seriously doubt, we're going to have to do something about this horrible law. I'm already nineteen, but as I don't officially exist in this universe, I can probably avoid detection for a while. You, on the other hand, are probably at the top of the Ministry's list."

"I didn't say I was opposed," he replied. "I merely fail to see how you intend to repeal the law single-handedly."

"I'll have to think of something," she said, returning her gaze to the list. "Now, is there anything else? Do you think we ought to try to make contact with the Order of the Phoenix? It might be helpful to have a few extra people on our side, but it'll be difficult to convince them we're trustworthy without telling them about the other world, and I'm not sure now is _quite_ the best time for that."

"I would prefer _not_ to join the Order of the Phoenix," Severus said in a low voice.

Hermione gave him a knowing look. "Because of James and Sirius, you mean?"

He scowled at her. She added, very seriously, "It might do them some good to see what kind of man you are. But I understand if you don't want to. I'm sure they _would_ get in the way."

She tried to ignore how his eyes brightened at that.

"But we'll have to find some way of warning them about Pettigrew. Only I don't know if he's started betraying them yet -"

"So? He _will_ betray them."

"Probably," she agreed. "Sirius said he thought Wormtail had been passing information to You-Know-Who for at least a year before James and Lily were killed, which means it wasn't dependent on the prophecy. But I don't see how we'll be able to convince them without proof."

"Perhaps we should send an anonymous tip to Crouch," Severus suggested, with bitterness.

Hermione considered that. She was beginning to regret not naming every Death Eater she could think of in her conversation with Crouch, but she supposed at some point he might have begun to doubt that a Muggleborn victim of the Imperius Curse would have been permitted to see so deeply into the inner workings of Voldemort's circle.

Still, the idea of anonymous tips did have merit. She wrote it down under the second objective.

Severus watched her with some surprise. "You think it would work?"

She snorted. "He was practically salivating when I started naming Death Eaters. He let me go without even verifying that my story was accurate - he was too eager to go after the people I named. I strongly suspect that anonymous tips might work for most of the Death Eaters I can think of. The Healer might be tricky. She was never branded with the Dark Mark, it would have been too risky in her profession. But I'm sure if we investigate some of the records for her previous patients we can find a few suspicious deaths."

"You think you can gain access to St. Mungo's private medical records?" Severus asked disbelievingly.

"Hmm. Maybe not. We'll start with _Daily Prophet_ articles, that's how we found out about Bode. He was one of her victims," she explained. Biting her lip, she added, "This really _would_ be easier with Dumbledore on our side, you know. Hogwarts keeps archives of every _Daily Prophet_ issue. I'm not sure where else we would get them, aside from the Ministry archives -" she shuddered - "or the _Daily Prophet_ office, but knowing them, they'll want to charge us for each and every paper we read."

Considering that, she jotted down _Rita Skeeter_ under people they needed to deal with. Another moment of thought provided _Dolores Umbridge, Quirinus Quirrel,_ and _Gilderoy Lockhart (if there's time)._ Quirrel was probably still in school, and neither Lockhart nor Umbridge were Death Eaters, but still. If she was going to make this world a better place, she might as well do it thoroughly.

"Dumbledore wouldn't give us access," Severus said, though his eyes were fixed on the names she was recording. "He's never liked me."

She looked at him. "That was one of the worst mistakes he ever made."

"Try telling him that."

"Maybe I will." She scowled fiercely. "There are quite a _lot_ of mistakes I would like to discuss with him, as it happens, although, again, now might not be the best time. But I'm certain I could convince him to give us access to the library. Or we could try sneaking in. Security's probably tight because of the war, but I don't think they _ever_ ward the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack. If only we had Harry's Cloak -"

"An Invisibility Cloak?" Severus asked sharply. "Was it his father's?"

"Yes, of course, that's how he got away with so much -"

"I _knew_ it." Severus looked positively furious.

"I'm not very good at Disillusionment Charms yet," Hermione said. "Are you?"

Severus scowled. "Passable."

"Well, that might be enough if we go at night. Madam Pince places wards on all of the books after hours, but I'm sure we could break through them -"

" _I_ certainly can," Severus muttered.

Hermione grinned at him. The idea of a teenaged Severus Snape sneaking into the library to read forbidden books tallied exactly with what she would have imagined. "Well, if you're sure you don't want to go to Dumbledore, then I think we ought to try that."

"But first -"

"Lily," Hermione said, sighing. "I know."


	17. Chapter 17

17

For the second time in two days, Moody found himself making the wretched journey to Azkaban. The sky was clearer than usual, wintry shreds of cloud catching the pale sunlight in a way that might have been breathtaking in any other part of the world, but which here struck Moody only as a sharp, piercing glimpse of something precious that could never be touched again.

Damn it. A mile away and he was already sinking into the Dementors' gloom. They hadn't even reached the fog yet.

He concentrated hard on his happiest memory. He'd been having trouble with it lately, ever since the leg. Remembering the wild triumph of climbing a twelve-thousand-foot mountain wasn't quite as elating when you knew you'd never do it again.

Still… it had been a damned fine thing, and he could taste the cold thin air, feel the sharp ice beneath his cleats, and see, well, damn near everything. The sky had been like this, shredded with clouds, but they had glowed with a gold that danced in the snow, the vivid blue sky only a pale shadow of the glacial ice carving its way through eons of rock. And he had been above it all, strong and alone and barely human in the depth of all the things he was feeling.

His Patronus glided from his wand, eagle wings spread wide. In the skiff in front of him, Dobby the house-elf's already wide eyes bulged in wonder.

"Never seen a Patronus before?" Moody asked.

The elf shook his head, ears flopping. "Master is not being able to cast one, sir," he whispered, then struggled, briefly and futilely, against the paralysis charm Moody had placed over him to prevent him from acting on his incessant need to punish himself.

"Not surprising," Moody growled. "Dark wizards usually can't. It's not easy to concentrate on your happiest memory when part of you is craving pain and power."

Something Crouch should have considered before authorizing the use of the Unforgivables for the Aurors. Moody had watched their Patronuses, once strong, sputter and fade into pitiful wisps over the past few months. Of course, that made it easy to tell who was taking advantage of the liberties Crouch offered.

Or easy in most cases. Crouch himself remained infuriatingly capable of casting his shark Patronus. Moody had heard Dumbledore theorize it was because Crouch believed, wholly and unreservedly, that he was right. Dark magic didn't twist him. It was just a tool in his very cold hands.

Moody didn't need Dumbledore to tell him that it was that kind of coldness, that sense of rightness, that made Crouch more dangerous than any Death Eater they had caught so far.

Moody fingered the fake Galleon in his pocket and grinned. How dangerous was Hermione Granger, then, to have fooled him?

He'd read the transcript of the interrogation, of course. Hell, half the Aurors had. Getting released from Auror custody - from _Crouch's_ custody - after attempting to break a suspected Death Eater out of Azkaban was something most of them just couldn't believe. The girl must have enchanted Crouch, they thought, she must have found some way to Confund him.

But no. She'd dropped a few names, including one that could set Crouch on edge any day, and _voila,_ as her French classmates might have said: she was out.

The Gryffindor scarf was getting more and more laughable all the time.

And the coin: that was a piece of work. Moody had stayed up half the night before he'd unlocked the spell. And, though he didn't like to draw hasty conclusions, he would have bet his other leg that it was not a Death Eater who had sent that little message. Severus Snape had set him up nicely, with his little hints that she had been Imperiused. Then he had made damn sure she'd play along.

Moody was impressed. They were just kids, but those two had managed to break out of Dementor and Ministry custody like it was nothing.

Of course, he might not have been so suspicious if the girl hadn't slipped up. Telling them she knew Dobby - that was a serious error. It had taken Moody all of two minutes to ascertain from the house-elf that he had never heard the name Hermione Granger, never seen a girl of her description, and certainly never allowed a Muggleborn to cross the threshold of Malfoy Manor. Of course, the elf could have been lying, but Moody had spent enough time with the sad little creature to recognize the signs of that.

No - Hermione Granger had lied about recognizing Dobby. And she had suggested, oh so casually, a method of freeing him from the Malfoys. A method Moody fully intended to test.

The girl's motivations were in question, of course, but after the arrests of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, and especially Augustus Rookwood, it was difficult to think she was on Voldemort's side. Of course, it might have been part of a plan - get a few more Death Eaters into Azkaban before staging a breakout - but Moody found it hard to believe Voldemort would have sacrificed someone like Rookwood, whose treachery might have gone unnoticed for decades if no one had turned his name in.

No, Moody was certain the girl wasn't in on some Death Eater scheme. She was acting alone, and she was acting against Voldemort.

Moody had the beginnings of a plan to find out why.

He had let the elf in on step one of the plan, which he knew was risky as hell while the elf was still bound to Malfoy, but he was confident Dobby wanted this plan to succeed as much as he did.

"Remember," Moody growled as the cold mist of Azkaban blotted the sky out. "Keep quiet, and keep out of sight."

"Dobby will remember, sir! Dobby is very good at not being heard and not being seen!"

"I'll bet you are," Moody growled. Then, as shadows of Dementors began flitting through the mist and his Patronus swelled with light, he asked, "Can they affect you?" He jerked a thumb at the shadows.

"Somewhat, sir. Dobby is feeling cold and unhappy when they is coming to the Manor, sir, but they would not hurt a house-elf. House-elves have no souls for them to take."

Moody considered that with a great deal of skepticism. He didn't know that elves had souls, of course, but they had personalities, and that seemed a strong indication. "Did Malfoy tell you that?"

"No, sir. Dobby is hearing it from another house-elf."

"Sounds reliable."

"Maybe not, sir, but house-elves is not becoming ghosts like wizards."

"The same could be said of Muggles."

"Master is saying Muggles have no souls."

"Do you believe that?"

The elf hesitated. "No, sir." He squirmed again, obviously trying to punish himself. "But Dobby is not knowing anything, sir!"

Moody snorted. "Know a damn sight more than Malfoy does, I'd bet. Careful now, we're almost here."

The boat scraped the rocky island shore. Dobby teetered precariously, then started to fall forward, but Moody caught him and set him upright.

"I'm taking off this paralysis, so don't do anything you might have to punish yourself for."

"Yes, sir. Dobby will behave himself."

"That's the spirit." Moody removed the charm, then helped the elf onto the rocks.

Dobby looked shocked. "Auror Moody is helping Dobby!"

"Don't make a fuss about it," Moody said hastily. "And keep quiet, I don't want the Dementors hearing anything. Never trust a Dementor."

Dobby nodded emphatically, ears flopping.

They made their way up to the fortress, Moody's Patronus lighting the way. Dobby was light-footed, and could have easily outstripped Moody's new and definitely not improved pace, but the elf stayed at his side, gazing with wide, dread-filled eyes at the prison and biting his fingers at some unspoken but no doubt forbidden thought.

Malfoy had been placed in one of the highest cells, with a nice wide window blocked by bars that no amount of Azkaban rations could allow a prisoner to slip through. The man was crouched beside the bars, gazing at the impenetrable fog and moaning.

Moody glanced around to make sure Dobby was out of sight, then struck his wooden leg against a bar with a loud _clunk_ and watched in satisfaction as Malfoy nearly jumped out of skin.

"Afternoon," Moody said pleasantly.

Malfoy blinked at him, his handsome face wasted and pale, his blond hair a tangled, filthy mess. His gaze locked with Moody's, but it was several moments before he seemed to recognize him.

"You," he finally whispered.

"Me," Moody acknowledged, pleased.

Malfoy lunged at the bars separating them, gripping them with filthy hands with long, chipped fingernails. "Please," he begged, "please let me out - I'll give you anything - tell you anything - I'll give you names -"

They had already been through this with Malfoy about a week after his initial incarceration. He had named Karkaroff and Yaxley, and he had been spared the Kiss. Moody had brought in Karkaroff when he lost his leg, but Yaxley was still in hiding.

"You already gave us names," Moody reminded him.

"I can't stay here," Malfoy whispered.

"Should've thought of that before you killed five Aurors."

Malfoy seemed to realize there wasn't any point begging then, because he slumped away from the door, sliding down the wall of his cell into a heap on the floor.

"Then why are you here?"

"We _could_ use some information," Moody said.

Malfoy laughed hollowly, and even here in this wretched place, his laugh was the cool, condescending laugh of his ancestors. "What's in it for me?"

"A solid meal. Fresh set of robes. Bottle of firewhiskey."

"I prefer elf-made wine."

"And I prefer world peace, but that's not an option, is it?"

"It would be, without Muggles."

"Suit yourself." Moody turned away, his wooden leg grinding on the stone floor.

In an instant, Malfoy was at the bars again. "Wait! What do you want to know?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Moody growled. "We know she's a Death Eater. What we don't know is where we can find her."

Malfoy stared at him for long seconds, his pale eyes both desperate and apprehensive.

"Not keen on turning in your sister-in-law, is that it?"

"My wife," he asked, "is she here?"

"Yep."

"I want her released."

"She's complicit in the murder of -"

"She didn't know! I didn't tell her! She knows nothing!"

Moody seriously doubted that, but he also knew the woman wasn't a Death Eater. "If we capture Lestrange on your information, I'll get your wife a trial," he said. "Can't guarantee anything after that."

Malfoy did not look relieved, but he nodded. "The Lestranges have a manor on the Isle of Wight -"

"We searched it this morning. Brought in the brothers, but Bellatrix wasn't there."

"They have another house in London."

"Oh? And where would that be?"

"In Knightsbridge. Near Ennismore Gardens."

"Any other property?"

"Bellatrix's father gave her a cottage in Dartmoor for her wedding. I don't know the precise location."

"Hmph. Anything else?"

Reluctantly, Malfoy shook his head.

"All right." Moody reached into his pockets and drew out a wad of cloth. "Clean clothes, as promised."

Malfoy reached eagerly for the new robes, not waiting to put them on. Moody kept an eye on him as he stripped off the filthy robes he was wearing, tossed them aside, and slid the new robe over his head.

"I'll be needing the old ones. Can't let you have extra clothes, you understand."

Malfoy wrinkled his nose, turned to find his robes, and froze, horrorstruck.

Dobby was cradling the robes as if they were a newborn child.

"Master has given a robe," he whispered.

"Dobby!" Malfoy's voice was no louder than the elf's.

"Master has given a robe!" The elf looked up with teary eyes. "Master has given Dobby clothes! Dobby is free!"

Malfoy lunged for him. With a light-footed little dance, Dobby wriggled between the cell's bars until he was standing next to Moody.

"Dobby is free!" he chanted again.

" _Moody!_ " Malfoy snarled.

"Here's that food," Moody said, dropping a couple of apples in front of the cell door. "Forgot the whiskey. Sorry."

"Dobby is _free!_ "

Back in the boat, Dobby was still eyeing the robes as if they were the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen. Moody was rather sorry he'd been freed with something so grimy. He had the feeling the elf was planning to keep the tattered robes forever.

"Well done," Moody said.

"Auror Moody is making the plan!" Dobby exclaimed. "Dobby is just following his instructions! Thank you, Auror Moody!"

"You're welcome. Now, I'd like a favor, if you don't mind."

"Anything, sir! Dobby will do anything for Auror Moody."

"All right. Shouldn't be too difficult. You remember that Granger girl I was asking you about?"

"Yes, sir, the one with the bushy hair, sir."

"That's right. Think you could find her?"

"Dobby will search under every rock and every blade of grass until he finds her, sir!"

"Good, but finding her's only the beginning. Once you find her, I want you to offer to help her. Tell her you heard that it was her idea to have Malfoy free you."

"It was Hermione Granger's idea?" Dobby asked, eyes wide.

"Yep. Thing is, I don't know why, or what she's up to. I suspect she's fighting Voldemort -"

Dobby flinched.

"- but I think it's dangerous for her to do that on her own. Don't you?"

"Very dangerous," Dobby said, ears low.

"I think we could help each other, but she seems a bit suspicious. So what I'd like you to do is watch her, serve her, whatever, but keep an eye on her, and let me know what she's doing. That way maybe I can convince her that she and I can work together. Think you can do that?"

"Auror Moody wants Dobby to spy on Hermione Granger?"

Moody grinned. "That's right. Once I figure out what she's up to, I can make sure she doesn't get herself killed."

The elf considered this. "Auror Moody isn't wanting to harm Hermione Granger?"

"Definitely not."

"Or send her to Azkaban?"

"That either."

"Then Dobby will help Auror Moody!"

And with a sudden crack, the elf was gone.

* * *

The Order meeting was at Arabella Figg's house that night, and it couldn't have been more obvious that most of the attendees wished it wasn't. No fewer than nine cats had joined them for the meeting (Moody had checked them all; not an Animagus among them), and though Lily Evans had welcomed two of them into her lap, Fabian and Gideon Prewett were both sneezing in what was rapidly becoming some sort of competition, and even Minerva McGonagall, a known cat lover, was eyeing Mr. Wobbles with supreme disapproval as he hacked up a hairball in the corner.

Even so, the room was crowded, and not just with cats. The Longbottoms were there (married two weeks ago), along with Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Evans, Arthur Weasley, Elphias Doge, Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Marlene McKinnon, Sturgis Podmore, and Mundungus Fletcher. Moody was keeping a close eye on Fletcher; though there'd never been any indication in the year or so since Dumbledore had recruited him that he was in league with the Death Eaters, Moody knew for a fact that he'd robbed multiple Order members, and he was peering at Figg's collection of china figurines with undue interest.

When he saw Moody watching him, he hastily sat down on one of the cats, which lashed out with yowling fury.

"Careful!" Figg snapped. "Are you all right, Pumpkin?"

With a foul look at Fletcher, Pumpkin slunk away to hide under Black's chair. Black, meanwhile, was retelling the story about the cat-themed wedding proposal to Gideon Prewett, who obviously found it much more amusing than his brother had. In between sneezes, he was snorting with laughter, and even asked Figg if any of her cats were named "Black."

"So which did you end up picking?" Fletcher asked. "The one wi' the little hearts, or…?"

"None of them," Black grinned. "I'm in violation of the law. I've been a fugitive for the past month."

"For a month! But you never said!"

"Sure I did. You were just too drunk to remember."

On the other side of the room, Alice Longbottom was offering Evans advice on her upcoming wedding.

"I know you want it to be big, Lily, but just think of all the people you'll have to keep track of! I only had thirty guests and it was _such_ a bother, relatives fighting and getting drunk, and then of course there was Frank's mother -"

Frank, though well within earshot, did not seem offended by this. He caught Moody's eye, shrugged slightly, and continued surveying the assembled group with silent attention.

Dumbledore arrived, late as usual - or perhaps the rest of them were merely early. His robes were pearly pink embroidered with tiny golden teardrops, and, as usual, they dropped half the jaws in the room. Elphias Doge actually blushed. Moody grinned.

"Good evening," Dumbledore greeted them all. "I am happy to tell you that for once, we seem to have good news…"

Everyone leaned forward eagerly. Even a few of the cats darted forward to gaze up at Dumbledore, although that might have been because of the robes.

"Augustus Rookwood has been identified as a Death Eater and taken into Ministry custody. He is being interrogated as we speak. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange have been arrested as well, and Aurors are currently investigating leads as to Bellatrix Lestrange's whereabouts."

"They'll want to be careful," Black said. "Bellatrix was always nasty."

"Don't worry, Black," Moody growled. "After the disaster at Malfoy Manor, we're not taking any risks."

"How did you find out about Rookwood?" Arthur Weasley asked. "We already suspected the Lestranges, but an Unspeakable…"

"That," Dumbledore said, "is one of the primary subjects I would like to discuss with you all. Has anyone here ever heard the name Hermione Granger?"

There was a silence, broken only by a few meows as the cats batted at Dumbledore's robes.

"Take it you didn't find her name in the records?" Moody asked.

McGonagall stood up. "As most of you are aware, Hogwarts is responsible for keeping track of Muggleborn children prior to the age at which they acquire a wand, after which point the Ministry monitors their magical use. Our enrollment list includes all magical children in Britain, regardless of blood status. Hermione Granger was never on the list - at least not under that name."

"I have also confirmed," Dumbledore said, "that Hermione Granger was never a student at Beauxbatons. Madame Maxime assured me that she has, as yet, not accepted any British students into her academy, although she would be more than willing to do so should the necessity arise."

"But who is she? This Her-Hermi- this Granger person?" Pettigrew asked.

"Hermione Granger," Dumbledore repeated clearly. "As to who she is, that is precisely the question."

"She broke into Azkaban last night," Moody said, "tried to break out Severus Snape."

Evans, Potter, and Black all looked up sharply at this, and Moody noticed Frank Longbottom's gaze fix intently on him as well.

"Snape?" Potter echoed. "Why would anyone want to break out Snape?"

"The Death Eaters -" Black began, but Moody cut him off.

"The way it looks now, the Death Eaters had nothing to do with it. But Granger claimed they did. Said they Imperiused her and forced her to do it."

"So maybe _she's_ a Death Eater -"

"I'd probably think so, if she hadn't turned Rookwood and the Lestranges in."

"Maybe she was trying to save herself," Potter pointed out.

"Didn't seem like it," Moody said. "She was in control of the situation. Played Crouch like a Quaffle. She and Snape are both out now."

"They let out _Snape?_ "

"Yep."

Potter and Black both looked ready to say something clever about that, but Dumbledore kept the discussion focused. "Alastor believes Granger to be working _against_ Lord Voldemort. She is remarkably well informed, not only about our ongoing efforts to evacuate Muggleborns to Australia and about Madame Maxime's offer of sanctuary in France, but about the Death Eaters themselves. She provided Crouch with information about the Death Eaters' identities and plans, and had knowledge of the Malfoys' house-elf. What her interest in Severus Snape is remains unknown."

Black made a face. Evans had a strange look. "Do you think she might hurt him?"

Moody shook his head. "He was in on the escape."

"But how could Crouch let them go?" Black exploded. "He doesn't let _anyone_ go -"

"See, now, that bit's interesting. Granger brought up his son."

"His _son?_ "

"Yep. Barty, Jr. Said the Death Eaters were going after him."

Shocked expressions erupted around the room.

"Were they?" Potter asked.

"Crouch hasn't said, but he stormed off to Hogwarts a few hours ago, and judging by the look on his face when he got back, I'd say yes."

Fabian Prewett whistled, then sneezed. "Bet Barty, Jr.'s having a rough day then."

"But how did she know? This Granger woman?"

Moody shrugged. "That's what we'd like to find out. We're working on it now, but if any of you hear anything, send us a message straight away. The sooner we know what she's up to, the better. Might even want to recruit her. She seems sharp."

"You said that about Snape," Black said, mouth twisting.

"And I stand by it," Moody growled. "Might be interesting to get a couple Slytherins on our side. Get some insight into the way the opposition thinks."

"You think she's a _Slytherin?_ " Pettigrew asked, horrified.

"Sure acts like one. Clever, resourceful, ambitious…"

"... a potential murderer," Potter muttered.

"We're all potential murderers," Moody growled. "Remember that, Potter."

A few people gave him uncomfortable looks at that, but Dumbledore only said, "We will, of course, consider the advantages of offering her membership if she seems a suitable candidate for our cause."

"So you don't know where they are now?" Evans asked. "Granger, or Sev- or Snape?"

"No, but they left the Ministry together. Made sure we knew about it, too."

"Have you met her? This woman?" Black asked.

"Yep."

"What's she like? What does she look like?"

"About your age," Moody said, "with too much hair -"

Potter sniggered.

"- and probably as smart as anyone in this room," Moody growled. "Maybe even as smart as Dumbledore, once she's a bit older."

A few people laughed, as though they thought it was a joke. Then they saw his expression.

"You can't be serious?" Elphias Doge asked. "Albus Dumbledore is the most brilliant wizard alive!"

"I would never presume so much," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "although I thank you, Elphias. But I think it would be unwise to assume that I have no equal for brilliance, or that I could never have such an equal. I am, however, curious as to what makes you say so, Alastor?"

"Savage went through her things. Found a purse with an Extension Charm on it, but no matter what Savage tried, she couldn't get it to give her anything but, ahem, feminine hygiene products."

Potter made an interesting choking sound.

"She had Robards take a look at it -"

"Bet that took some convincing," Black muttered.

"- and he said he hasn't seen anything like it."

"But that's a simple enough charm!" Evans exclaimed.

"And _how_ do you know _that?_ " Potter asked, horrified.

"Right you are, Evans," Moody said, "anyone with a modicum of talent can charm an object to regurgitate objects of their choice. But that was only the first spell, the most basic defense. Robards said the defenses went about twenty spells deep, and the final spell in the ladder would have destroyed the bag entirely sooner than let someone else get into it. No way to circumvent it. Robards had never seen anything like it."

"And you think Miss Granger designed the spell herself?" Dumbledore asked, curious.

"Robards got a pretty good feel for her style," Moody said, "and he said it's the same as this." He tossed Dumbledore the fake Galleon. "And I'm sure she made that. I got a feel for her, too, from the Dementors."

A few people shivered.

Dumbledore examined the coin for perhaps thirty seconds before smiling in understanding. "Very clever," he acknowledged. "I suppose the message was intended as a cover story, after their capture?"

"That's right," Moody said. "Snape must've had the partner coin, but we didn't find anything on him when we took him in. He might've dropped it somewhere on the way back from Azkaban, though. The kid's pretty slick."

"What does the message say?" Alice Longbottom asked.

"'Imperio,'" Dumbledore read.

"And you knew all this," Black asked indignantly, "and still let her go? Didn't you tell Crouch?"

Moody snorted. "And get her thrown to the Dementors? She's a potential ally, Black, letting her go was essential."

"What about Savage and Robards?" Arthur asked. "Won't they report it?"

"Savage liked her," Moody said with a shrug. "Robards didn't, but he knows Crouch has taken things too far. Authorizing the Unforgivables, that was too much for Robards. He'll let things unfold, with the girl."

"As will we," Dumbledore said, "at least until we hear back from your contact, Alastor."

"Shouldn't be too long," Moody said. "He seemed eager to please..."


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: At least one of you has noticed updates have been coming less frequently. Please rest assured that this is not an indication of a loss of dedication to this story, only of my busy December schedule! Come January I expect to have more time to devote to this, and by February I should be back to twice-a-week updates, if not sooner. In the meantime, thank you for your patience, and happy winter!

* * *

18

It was just past dawn when Hermione and Severus Apparated to Cokeworth, and a pearly mist had settled over the city, gleaming at its highest edges with hints of the sunrise. Hermione knew Cokeworth was not a pretty place, but in that moment, with the frost glinting on the grass and stray snowflakes clustered like flowers beneath the old swingset, it seemed both lovely and tantalizing, reminding her for an instant of her own childhood, and how she had spent hours at the edge of the neighborhood playground reading while the other children played.

It was very easy to imagine Severus Snape watching from these bushes as Lily swung up and down, the sunlight dancing in her hair.

Hermione's stomach was, quite ridiculously, in knots. The idea of meeting Harry's mother should not have made her nervous, but it did. The prospect of being face to face with this perfect woman, who by all accounts had been the most beautiful, intelligent, wonderful, charming woman who had ever lived, and who had arguably won the war _both_ times through the sheer power of her endless love, was intimidating.

Severus, she could see, was no less intimidated. In fact, he looked slightly nauseated.

"It's this way," he said, his movements jerkier than usual as he made his way across the playground and onto the pavement of a street that was significantly nicer than those around it.

The pavement was icy, little florets of frost crunching beneath their boots as they passed between increasingly large houses. Hermione was cold. Severus, who was wearing only a spare cloak from her bag over his thin, worn robes, must have been freezing.

"The wards can't be much farther," Severus said. "Assuming, of course, that Potter bothered with them…"

"I'm sure he must have," Hermione said, her breath puffing out in clouds. "He'd have to be an idiot not to."

Severus gave a small snort, breath shooting out of his nostrils like smoke from a dragon's, but didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Here," and stopped dead.

Hermione could feel the wards as well. They formed an almost solid wall ahead of her.

Of course, that wasn't _really_ true. A Muggle could have walked right through them. But Hermione felt the warning sting of magic, and knew that if she were to take another step alarms would go off in the Evans' house.

Hermione and Severus raised their wands in tandem, probing gently. The wards were, in fact, quite solid, although Hermione thought she could have broken through them given enough time. Probably not without setting off the alarm, though.

"Well, that's something, at least," Severus muttered. "Potter and Black didn't set these wards."

"No," Hermione said, "I think Moody did. It seems like his style. You see that one there, the creepy apparition? He did one like that at Order headquarters after Dumbledore died, it was terrifying. And the Tongue-Tying one is his as well."

"Is he the one who taught you your wards?"

"No." Hermione, still focused on examining the wards, barely noticed the way Severus was watching her.

"Did I?"

"Some of them," she answered absently, still trying to concentrate.

He folded his arms. "Did I teach you to castrate intruders?"

She did look at him then. "It doesn't _castrate_ anyone! It just makes things sort of blacken and shrivel up for a while."

Severus arched an eyebrow in what seemed to be a combination of amusement and squeamishness. "And how long is 'a while'?"

Hermione shrugged, turning back to the wards. "A month or two. I think."

"You _think?_ "

"I've never actually tested it," she said indifferently.

"You didn't think it might be wise to test a ward like that before casting it?"

Hermione shrugged again. "Better safe than sorry."

Severus stared at her, apparently processing the implications of this. "Is there some reason you felt the need to target that particular piece of anatomy?"

"Honestly," Hermione said, exasperated and on edge, "considering what the Death Eaters suggested doing to Lily, do you even have to ask? Isn't that why we're here?"

Severus was watching her with a much more intense look now. "But is there some reason _you_ felt the need to cast that ward?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look, but she could feel her cheeks coloring. He stared her down with such intensity she almost took a step back.

"Someone… made a request," she said finally, looking away. "But it never came to anything, Dobby saved -"

CRACK.

" _Dobby!_ " Hermione gasped, jumping backward and almost hitting the wards.

The elf had appeared right in front of them, a wide grin on his face, his body covered in worn but originally very expensive robes that were so big they pooled on the pavement beneath his feet.

"You're free!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Dobby is free!" Dobby replied, ears flapping excitedly. "Hermione Granger is telling Auror Moody how to free Dobby, and Auror Moody is getting Dobby freed!"

Hermione beamed. Dobby tried to take a step toward her, tripped over his robes, and fell straight into her legs, which he latched onto happily.

"Dobby has been looking everywhere for Hermione Granger!" he said. "Dobby is wanting to thank her! And then Hermione Granger is saying Dobby's name, and Dobby is finding her!"

"Here, Dobby, let me help you with those robes," she said, straightening him up. Then, remembering how Snape had looked at her when she'd underestimated the Hogwarts elves, she added, "Or can you shrink them yourself?"

"Dobby is not knowing how to shrink them, miss! Dobby could be taking them up with a needle, but Dobby is not having any sewing supplies."

"Well, would you like me to shrink them for you?"

"Yes, miss, thank you!"

Hermione cast a Shrinking Charm and watched what must have once been Lucius Malfoy's obscenely luxuriant robes slide up from the ground and settle perfectly over the elf's tiny form. It looked much less bizarre than his collection of socks had.

"That looks very nice," Hermione said.

Dobby, looking down at himself, was clearly delighted. Severus, standing behind him, looked like he was trying not to grin. Hermione was almost completely certain he was imagining the look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he could see the elf now.

Dobby spun around in his newly fitted robes, his ears flopping, then dropping suddenly when he caught sight of Severus.

"Severus Snape!" he exclaimed in a low (for him) tone. "Dobby is hoping Severus Snape is not angry with Dobby for paralyzing him?"

Severus looked like he was still trying not to laugh. "Not at all."

Dobby brightened immediately. "Dobby is glad Severus Snape is not dead!"

"It certainly is unexpected, isn't it?"

"Very unexpected, sir! Is Severus Snape helping Hermione Granger fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Severus and Hermione exchanged an alarmed look.

"Er, Dobby," Hermione said, "whatever gave you that idea?"

Dobby smiled knowingly. "Auror Moody is saying Hermione Granger is fighting the Death Eaters!"

"Oh," she said, "did he?"

"Yes, miss! Dobby is here to serve Hermione Granger!"

"But I don't want you to serve me!" Hermione exclaimed, outraged.

Dobby's aspect fell, his ears drooping almost to his shoulders.

"That is - I think very highly of you, Dobby. I don't want you to serve me. You're my equal."

Dobby's eyes welled with tears.

"Oh, dear," Hermione said.

"Hermione Granger is saying Dobby is an equal!" he said, sniffling. "Dobby knew Hermione Granger must be clever and good to think of a plan to free Dobby, but Dobby is never knowing of Hermione Granger's greatness and nobility!"

Hermione reddened. Severus was obviously biting the inside of his cheek, but despite all his efforts his smirk was starting to escape.

"That's - er - very nice of you to say, Dobby. But really, you _are_ my equal, and anyone who says otherwise is just wrong."

Dobby wiped his eyes on Lucius's old robes. "Then most wizards must be wrong, miss."

"Yes, they are," she said heatedly.

Dobby sniffled. "Dobby is wanting to help Hermione Granger fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him no, then shut it. Oh, but it was so tempting to treat him like a child! With his raggedy robes, his giant eyes, and his floppy ears, he looked so adorable, and she couldn't help thinking of Crookshanks and his poor little squashed face.

Snape was right; she _didn't_ think of them as equals. In theory, yes, of course, but when faced with so much pitiable cuteness, she couldn't help wanting to protect him the way she would any other helpless creature! Of course, she knew herself well enough to recognize that she felt that way about many people, as well - Harry and Ron for starters - but oh, the idea of letting him fight, when they had buried him less than a year ago, was terrible!

She felt tears welling in her eyes, and hastily brushed them away. "Dobby, it's very dangerous."

"Dobby is knowing that, miss," Dobby said seriously. "Dobby is seeing some of the things the Death Eaters are doing, and Dobby is having to do some of them himself. But Dobby is wanting to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named defeated. Dobby is wanting to help."

Hermione was seriously in danger of bursting into tears, but she forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths and get a grip. "Well, Dobby, if - if you're sure. But just know that you're not under any obligation. I want you to feel like you can make your own choices."

Dobby beamed. "Dobby is making his own choices, miss! Dobby is choosing to help!"

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes again. Severus said, "I imagine Dobby could be very helpful."

Hermione met his gaze, and knew what he was thinking: the diary. But before she could say anything, there was another _crack_ behind them, and a young Alice Longbottom appeared.

"Alice!" Hermione gasped.

Alice stared at her. She was so much _fuller,_ somehow, than her older self, her blond hair thick and shiny instead of traced with wispy white, her body curvier, her eyes brighter. Even her voice was stronger. "Who are you?" Her gaze went to Snape, full of dislike. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

Severus's expression, so full of amusement a moment before, was flat and cold. "That is hardly _your_ concern."

But Alice's gaze had traveled back to Hermione.

"You're Hermione Granger," she said.

Hermione gulped. "Er, yes, I suppose I am."

Alice fixed her with a sharp look, completely devoid of the playfulness Hermione was used to. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Hermione said, "we were inspecting the wards to make sure they were adequate."

Alice's brows raced upward. "And are they?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "but I think they could be improved."

Alice stared at her for several seconds, measuring her. Then she brightened, the usual playful look springing up. "I think you'd better come along, then."

Alice stepped through the wards, then turned to face Severus and Hermione as she walked backwards away from them. "Aren't you coming?"

Hermione glanced nervously at Severus, who was still eyeing Alice with dislike. Gripping his elbow, she pulled him along. The wards tickled her skin, probably setting off alarm bells in the Evans's house, but Alice was obviously holding the wards open for them.

Dobby trailed after them, peering curiously at Alice, who gave him only a cursory glance.

"So who are you, really?" Alice asked, still walking backwards, wand in hand.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said.

"That's just a name," Alice said, waving her hand. "What are you doing _here?_ Why are you interested in Lily?"

Hermione involuntarily glanced in Severus's direction. Alice's eyes narrowed. "Of course. It was _his_ idea. What's the matter, Snape, having second thoughts? Wishing you had taken Lily when you had the chance?"

Severus's eyes flashed dangerously, but he only said, with a practiced sneer, "Just making sure Lily's _friends_ are up to the task of protecting her."

Alice snorted. "Lucius Malfoy broke through your wards and burned your house to the ground. I'm not sure _you're_ capable of protecting Lily from anything."

Severus flushed darkly.

"Give him time," Hermione said. "Dobby, what did you think of the wards?"

"Dobby is not being affected by the wards, miss. Dobby is a house-elf."

Hermione felt satisfied when Alice's eyes went wide in alarm. "The wards don't keep you out?"

"No, miss. Most wizards is not bothering to ward against elves."

"So," Hermione said, "if you wanted to Apparate into Lily's bedroom, you could?"

"If I knew where her bedroom was, miss."

"And could you Apparate a wizard with you?"

"Yes, miss! Dobby can Apparate two or three at a time, miss, depending on how big the wizards are!"

Alice was ashen beneath her pale hair. "But there are wards against house-elves, aren't there?"

"Dobby thinks so, miss, but Dobby is not knowing them."

"I know them," Hermione said. "I also know how to make exceptions for admitting specific house-elves."

"Why would you want to do that?" Alice asked.

"Isn't it obvious? If Lily or anyone else is danger, they could summon a house-elf to help them escape."

Alice looked surprised, Severus positively eager. Dobby cheerfully said, "Dobby could help Hermione Granger's friends escape!"

"We'll have to discuss it carefully," Hermione said, thinking of Malfoy Manor and the knife that had killed Dobby. "It would be better if people could summon help _before_ they're face-to-face with Death Eaters."

"As soon as the wards fall," Alice said thoughtfully.

"Of course, that won't work for traitors," Severus said pointedly.

Alice flared up. "We don't have traitors."

"You do, actually," Hermione said. "At least one that we know of."

"Lucius mentioned it," Severus said. "Someone named 'Wormtail.'"

Hermione cast him an approving glance. He met her gaze for the briefest moment, expression still guarded because of Alice, but she could see the dark glint of purpose in his eyes.

Alice was frowning. "Wormtail?"

"That's what he said. Someone close to Lily."

Hermione was pleased to see that Alice was obviously taking this seriously, not dismissing it out of hand just because it came from Severus.

Alice, who was still walking backward, stopped abruptly. "This is it."

They turned to look at the house. It looked nice and frosty in the wintry dawn, a few strings of Christmas lights still dangling from the eaves and glittering palely over the windows. Hermione could tell, at a glance, that it was a happy sort of house; it reminded her vividly of her own (or, rather, her parents').

Yet, in that moment, a high-pitched screech broke the calm tableau.

"LILY! Those earrings are MINE!"

"They're NOT yours, Gran gave them to ME!"

"LIAR!"

"I'm NOT lying - Mum, you remember, don't you?"

There was a brief silence; obviously Mrs. Evans was more soft-spoken than her daughters. Then the screechy voice erupted, "You ALWAYS take her side! I need them for my DATE!"

Another pause, then -

"FINE! FINE! I HATE YOU ALL! I'll just go without them! But if Vernon doesn't propose, then it's YOUR fault!"

A door slammed. There was a longer pause this time, then a half-sob, half-screech: "SHE'S NOT NICE! She's only giving them to me so you'll THINK she is! GIVE them to me, Lily!"

Another door slammed. Alice cast a glance at Hermione and said, "It's best to just wait these things out, sometimes."

Severus snorted, eyeing one of the upstairs windows with much greater dislike than he had shown Alice.

Hermione followed his gaze, but caught only the brief movement of a shadow on the wall before the room fell still. She was intensely curious: she knew the screaming sister was Petunia.

Then, without warning, the front door burst open. A bony-faced girl, red-faced and red-eyed, stomped out, a pair of sparkly (and, in Hermione's opinion, rather hideous) earrings dangling from her ears. She froze on the doorstep at the sight of the three magical visitors, then stomped down the walkway to the garden gate, huffing and glaring.

Hermione stepped right in front of her as she tried to slip through the gate. The girl took a step back, looking wary.

"Hello," Hermione said pleasantly, "I'm Hermione Granger. You must be Petunia."

Petunia muttered something that sounded like, "Get away from me, freak."

Hermione tutted. "I don't think you should be using words like that, you know. In fact, I think the next time you use that word, something awful is going to happen to you. Something like a nice fat pimple right in the middle of your forehead. What do you think?"

Petunia looked alarmed. Hermione had her wand out.

"I know it must be difficult," she said, "being a Muggle, when your sister's not. But really, it's no excuse for treating other people poorly. And you _do_ treat people poorly, don't you, Petunia?"

Petunia, who had started glancing from side to side looking for a way out, suddenly caught sight of Dobby. She shrieked and jumped backward.

"What is _that?_ "

"That," Hermione said, "is my friend Dobby."

Petunia opened her mouth, shut it, then muttered, "Get out of my way. I'm late."

"I think Vernon can wait. First, there's just one thing you and I need to get straight."

Petunia stared at her, half-resentful, half-terrified.

"If you _ever,_ for _any_ reason, lock a child in a cupboard, I will hunt you down, shrink you to the size of a cockroach, and keep you shut up in a matchbox for the rest of your life."

Petunia stared at her, completely baffled. "I - what?"

"Just remember," Hermione said, stepping aside. "No cupboards."

Petunia edged past her, looking at her like she was a lunatic.

"Oh, and Petunia?" Hermione called after her. "Vernon really isn't very nice, you know."

Petunia gave her a sharp, disturbed look, then climbed into the car that had just pulled up to the curb. Hermione smiled and waved at Vernon, considered using a Severing Charm on his tires, then decided that was overkill.

The future Dursleys drove away.

"Hermione Granger is calling Dobby her friend!" Dobby burst out, obviously having been containing himself with only the most extreme effort.

"You are my friend, Dobby," Hermione said. "Well, shall we?"

Alice cast Hermione a look that was rather similar to the one Petunia had worn, but led the way through the gate. Severus mouthed, "Cupboard?"

And Hermione mouthed back, "Harry."

Severus looked disturbed.

Hermione knew it might not be fair to punish people for things they hadn't done yet. For all she knew, Peter Pettigrew and Petunia Evans might turn into perfectly decent people in this reality. Treating them with compassion might accomplish more than threats.

But Hermione was on a mission, and they were in the way. Win the war - that was the goal. Petunia might not be directly involved in that, but if for some Trelawneyish reason Harry _was_ born, then she could be. And as for Pettigrew…

If he was capable of betraying his friends to their brutal murder in one reality, then there really wasn't much point in protecting him here.

Hermione had never been the most merciful of the trio. Ron and Harry might enjoy talking about getting revenge, but really, when had either of them _actually_ done it? Never. At least, not in any serious way.

The same could not be said of Hermione. She didn't particularly like her own vindictive streak, but it was there, and it was useful.

Alice rang the bell, and they stood awkwardly waiting, Dobby's ears quivering in what Hermione suspected was an effort to keep warm. She'd need to do something about that. She probably had a couple of her knitted hats in her bag.

The door opened, and a kind-looking woman about Hermione's parents' age answered the door, smiling warmly at Alice, then curiously at Hermione, then, with a little jump of shock, at Severus.

"Severus!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were in prison!"

Severus flushed redder than Hermione had ever seen, in this world or her own.

"That was a mistake, Mrs. Evans," Hermione said hastily.

"Yes, yes, of course, I know that," Mrs. Evans said, looking at her again. "I'm sorry, dear, I don't think we've met?"

"This is Hermione," Alice said. "She's come to talk to Lily about the wards."

"Another one? I thought Mr. Moody said they were all sorted, now?"

"Hermione has some suggestions for improvements," Alice said.

"Well, I suppose that can only be for the best," Mrs. Evans said. Her gaze fell on Dobby. "And who is this charming fellow?"

Dobby practically glowed at this. "Dobby, madam! Dobby the house-elf!"

"Very pleased to meet you, Dobby," Mrs. Evans said, extending a hand low enough for Dobby to shake. "I'm Mrs. Evans."

Dobby stared at her hand, tears in his eyes, then touched it reverently. "Mrs. Evans is very good!"

Mrs. Evans chuckled. "Can you tell all that, from a touch?"

Dobby looked at her seriously. "Yes, madam. Dobby can tell."

"Well," she said, "why don't you all come in. I'll just fetch Lily. She's panicking about the dress again, Alice, I think you'll have to calm her down."

Alice rolled her eyes. "She's making this so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"I keep telling her that, dear, but does she listen?" Mrs. Evans sighed fondly. "Girls. I'm sure Petunia will be even worse when the time comes."

No one answered that, and Mrs. Evans disappeared up a flight of stairs in search of Lily. Alice showed them into the sitting room, where she plopped onto the sofa as if she was quite at home.

"Go on, sit," she said. "There's no need to look so nervous, Hermione. _You_ can look nervous, Snape, you _should_ be."

Severus promptly lost all trace of expression, except a cold glare.

"Why don't you sit, Dobby?" Hermione encouraged.

Dobby's eyes widened. "Madam Evans is very good, but Dobby could never hope that she would want him to _sit!_ "

"Oh, go on, Dobby," Alice said comfortably. "Mrs. E's a Muggle, she won't mind at all."

Dobby's eyes went even wider. "Dobby never knew Muggles could be so good!"

"They're not all good," Alice said. "You saw Petunia. Go on, then, sit."

And Dobby sat on the floor, looking thoroughly honored to be there.

Sighing slightly, but acknowledging that it would have been a challenge for Dobby to make it onto the sofa, Hermione sat a cushion away from Alice. Severus remained standing, pretending to glower but really, Hermione thought, examining the pictures of Lily on the mantel.

Then they heard the rapid patter of stocking-clad feet on the stairs, and Lily entered the room.

She was… normal. That was Hermione's first shocked impression. She looked completely normal. Pretty, yes, but no more so than Ginny, although she did have those lovely eyes. She was wearing high-waisted brown trousers, a gold-and-red striped shirt, and hoop earrings that were only marginally less hideous than the earrings Petunia had absconded with.

Hermione knew she and Lily must be about the same age, but she couldn't help thinking that Lily looked _young._ Perhaps it was only that Hermione was used to looking at her own reflection, and at the faces of her friends, which had all been worn down and hardened by the war, but she was struck vividly by the fact that Lily was barely more than a child - a child who, in Hermione's world, would die in fewer than three years. A child who would have given birth to Harry in only a year and a half.

Hermione tried to imagine having a child in a year and a half's time, and couldn't. It was ridiculous. She was simply too young.

Severus was staring at this young and normal-looking Lily as if she were the most beautiful creature in the entire universe. Lily, on the other hand, was eyeing Hermione curiously. How she could ignore the look on Severus's face was completely incomprehensible.

"You're Hermione Granger?" Lily asked, tilting her head to the side so that her (admittedly very lovely) hair fell in a shimmering arc over her shoulder.

"Yes," Hermione said, still caught somewhere between intimidation and surprise.

Lily looked like she was assessing Hermione just as much as Hermione was assessing her. It had been a long time since Hermione had cared much about her appearance, but she was suddenly keenly aware that she was, yet again, the least attractive girl in the room. Alice had that round, sweet face, eyes alive with mischief. Lily, for all that she looked normal, still seemed like she could stun in the right wardrobe, just like Ginny could.

Hermione was just Hermione: bushy-haired, short, and fairly scarred underneath her clothes.

Of course, none of that really mattered. What mattered was that they were all clever and skilled at magic.

"Have the Death Eaters given you any indication that they intend to follow through on the plan they mentioned to Severus?" Hermione asked, trying to push her nerves aside and sound businesslike.

Lily's eyes narrowed slightly at the name "Severus," and Hermione saw her glance briefly in his direction. He visibly flinched.

"No," Lily said. "None of the Death Eaters have come near me."

Hermione hesitated, then asked, "When is the wedding?"

"Next week."

Severus didn't flinch this time. He seemed to finally be regaining control over his Occlumency shields. "I assume you plan to have security at the wedding?"

Lily frowned. "Moody will be there. And Frank and Alice, of course."

"Our Auror initiation is next month," Alice said.

Severus looked unimpressed. "That's it?"

Lily huffed. "What were you expecting, a full Auror guard?"

"Surely you invited Dumbledore?" Severus replied.

Lily looked surprised. "Yes, of course, but he's not actually going to _be_ there. He's much too busy."

"You really ought to convince him to go," Hermione said. "The Death Eaters won't attack if he's there."

"You can't think they're planning to crash my wedding!" Lily said, making a frustrated little expression that reminded Hermione fiercely of Harry. "I'm sure they have better things to do. Or worse things, rather."

Hermione, remembering Bill and Fleur's wedding, felt a flash of frustration herself. "That's the kind of attitude that could get your friends killed."

Lily folded her arms. "And how do _you_ know?"

"How do you _not_ know?" Severus interrupted sharply. "You can't really think you can marry into a pureblood family without consequence -"

Hermione could have told him that was the wrong approach, but it was too late.

"Oh, of _course,_ " Lily snapped. "I forgot I'm just a _Mudblood -_ "

Severus blanched. "That's not what I meant -"

"It _is_ what you meant -"

"It's _not -_ "

"You've said it before!"

"And I said I'm sorry!" Severus cried out, then shut his mouth, his face going so blank it was almost frightening.

"This is irrelevant," he said coldly. "The Death Eaters will oppose the marriage, as you should know. Moreover, they may seek to harm you to punish _me,_ now that I have been released from Azkaban. They will know that I helped the Aurors capture the Malfoys, and they will certainly know that I refused to join them - because of you."

"So it's my fault -"

"Of course it's not your fault!" he snapped. "It's my fault - is that what you want to hear? They could see that I - that I felt - they could see that they could use you to get to me!"

Hermione had never seen him so inarticulate.

"I can apologize again if you want, Lily, but I already know that won't change anything! What matters now is keeping you safe! And if that means begging Dumbledore on hands and knees to attend your wretched wedding, then _do it._ "

Lily folded her arms. "And if I don't?"

Hermione couldn't believe anyone could be so reckless. Least of all Harry's _mother._

"This isn't a game!" Hermione exclaimed. "This is war!"

Lily tossed her hair, looking haughty. "I know that -"

"No, you _don't,_ " Hermione snapped. Fear and rage were bubbling up in equal measure. "You don't know _anything._ How many people have you seen die?"

Lily stared at her, not answering, rebellion and resentment simmering in her green eyes. Hermione felt her control beginning to slip.

"None? And how many battles have you fought in? How many duels for life or death? How many times have you had your friends' blood on your hands, or your face, or all over your clothes? How many people have you _killed?_ How many times have you faced Voldemort, or the Lestranges, or the Malfoys, or Dolohov or Greyback or Yaxley or anyone else who wanted to kill you or torture you or rape you? You think the Death Eaters have better things to do than ruin your wedding? The last wedding I went to _was_ ruined by Death Eaters, they _murdered_ guests, and that was _in spite of_ all the wards we put in place! In spite of the Aurors and Polyjuice and every other reasonable precaution! If you think you're somehow immune because you're innocent and no one could ever be awful enough to murder happy people, or young people, or children, then you're living in a complete fantasy!"

Lily looked too shocked to speak - which was fortunate, because, though Hermione was panting, she was far from finished.

"Are you really going to take risks with your life? With your friends' lives, your husband's life? What about your children? Sooner or later you're bound to have one, with this absolutely _barbaric_ law. Are you going to risk your child's life, too? All because - what? You trust your friends more than you trust Dumbledore? You think they're somehow a match for _Voldemort?_ Don't make me laugh. What are you going to do against the Killing Curse, Lily? Nothing. _Nothing._ Dumbledore might be an arrogant, interfering old bastard, but he's the most powerful wizard in the world, and he _likes_ you, _and_ your stuck-up bully of a fiance. You'd have to be a complete idiot not to ask for his help - or not to accept it, when he offers it. If you want to survive long enough to see your children grow up, then I suggest you _stop_ being an idiot, _right_ now. You have _no idea_ how serious this is, and trust me, you _don't_ want to find out."

Into the ringing silence that followed, Alice said, "Moody was wrong. You're _definitely_ not a Slytherin."

Lily recovered a moment later. "I'm not an idiot," she said. "I know this is serious -"

"How many times have you almost died, Lily?" Hermione asked. "An estimate."

Lily stared at her. "I - what? Never!"

"Never." Hermione laughed. "That must be nice. I was twelve the first time. A mountain troll almost smashed me into pieces. Voldemort was responsible, of course. And do you know what I did? No? I did nothing. I froze. If my friends hadn't shown up and saved me, my shattered skeleton would be lying in a coffin somewhere right now, just another dead Mudblood courtesy of Voldemort and his obsession with ruling the world. There have been other times since then, of course. Dozens, maybe a hundred or more - I suppose it depends on whether we're counting every single spell that's ever missed me in a duel. Do you think we should? I suppose it doesn't matter. My reaction remains the same. I freeze. I cry. Do you think you would do better, Lily?"

"N-no," Lily said, her face pale. "No, I know I wouldn't."

"No," Hermione agreed. "You wouldn't. So let's talk about your wards."


	19. Chapter 19

19

Lily stared at the strange young woman with her bristling hair and angry dark eyes, feeling completely flustered and confused. She couldn't remember the last time someone other than Petunia had yelled at her, and Petunia had certainly never yelled at her about something like _this,_ something _serious,_ something _right_. Lily felt, to her own shock and embarrassment, completely ashamed.

It wasn't that she hadn't known the war was serious. Of _course_ she had. She had met people who had later been killed, like the Aurors. Even an Order member or two. She had felt afraid when she had seen Severus's house in burnt ruins, and she had felt terrified when the Death Eaters had asked her to join them.

But she had never seen anyone die. Everyone she loved was safe and whole, and the idea that they could ever be otherwise was really quite inconceivable. James, Alice, and Sirius were too brave, too clever; Remus was too cautious, Peter and Mary too timid. The war, though it had taken people in the Wizarding community, was still too far away to touch any of _them._ Like the wars on television, this war was sad and horrible and nowhere near her or the people she loved.

Somehow, even after months of Order meetings, months of murders and disappearances, Lily still hadn't ever quite grasped that she was _in_ a war.

She still wasn't grasping it now, but it was occurring to her, for the first time, that perhaps she _should_ be.

Perhaps she _should_ lose sleep at night worrying for her friends. Perhaps she _should_ be wildly paranoid every time she left the house. Perhaps she _should_ live in terror.

She thought of Petunia, yelling at her over a pair of earrings, and of her mother, preparing floral arrangements for the wedding, and of her father, working at his normal Muggle job in the normal Muggle world where all the real wars were a continent away and in no way impacting their normal English lives.

Was it just that she was still too rooted in that world? That the evening news and dinner table discussion of the IRA and the Yorkshire Ripper and the other sporadic Muggle violence felt as real to her as, if not more real than, the reports of Death Eater attacks described in the _Daily Prophet?_ She was _involved_ in this war, she was an Order member, but aside from offering up the occasional explanation of Muggle technology, she really hadn't contributed much. Hermione Granger was right: Lily was no good at dueling, and though she had been top of the class in Charms, she had never studied Charms that would be useful in an actual _war._

The fact was, she had known, for as long as she could remember, what she wanted to be, and the kind of life she wanted to live. She wanted what her parents had, but more: a house, a family, children, but without the long hours her father had to work, without the tired loneliness of her mother, left at home without him, and without the constant comparisons, made by everyone in the family, between the two daughters, of how pretty and bright Lily was, and how plain and shrewish Petunia had turned out.

Lily wanted her children to love each other, and she wanted to be wonderfully happy and loved herself. It was all she had ever wanted, the perfection of her not-quite-perfect childhood, the life her parents had striven for but just barely missed.

Of course she knew fighting in the war was important, just as fighting terrorists and murderers was important, but she wasn't like James and Sirius and Alice, who really did _want_ to fight. Lily just wanted it to be _over,_ so she could live.

It was selfish. She knew that. To think of herself, when so many others had suffered, was evidence of a hidden ugliness in her that only Petunia had ever seen (and which, in Lily's opinion, Petunia tended to exaggerate terribly). Lily didn't want to be selfish, but she didn't want to give up her dream, either.

Love. Happiness. Home. What could ever be more important than those things?

The war had not taken them from her. The dead Aurors, the attacks, the marriage law - none of that had taken James from her, none of it had taken _anything._ She had lost nothing. She had suffered nothing, except a few moments' fear and worry. She was still _happy._ And she was still loved.

She didn't want to feel anything beyond that. She didn't want to feel the blood and horror staining the edges of her happiness, the Auror guards at the fringes of her wedding pictures, the obituaries surrounding her wedding announcement.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Shame burned inside her, for her selfishness, which, even now, face-to-face with this hard-faced girl, Lily could feel rebelling against the sheer unfairness of it all.

She just wanted a normal life!

And, more than that: she didn't want to be a hero. She didn't want to be a soldier. She didn't want to be a part of this war. She had joined the Order because everyone expected it of her, because it was the right thing to do, but really, she just wanted the Dumbledores and Moodys of the world to take care of it. She was eighteen years old. She wasn't _supposed_ to be in a war. She had just graduated school. She was supposed to be able to start her life now, to really live, away from Petunia and all the little imperfections of their home. It was time for her to finally do things _her_ way.

She felt, for the first time in a decade, the urge to throw a complete tantrum, the way Petunia still sometimes did. She always looked down on her sister for it - it was _so_ immature - but she was filled with the sudden inexplicable feeling that it would be a complete relief.

She shoved it down. She had been a prefect and Head Girl. She had graduated as the brightest girl in her class. She was an adult, in both the Muggle and magical worlds. She would _not_ act like a child.

No matter how much this strange woman was treating her like one.

Lily sat down, a little numbly, without saying anything. She could tell by Alice's expression that she had at least some idea of what was going on in Lily's head (after all, Alice had come over to help with her wedding dress, not prevent murderers from showing up at her wedding), but Severus was giving her one of his unpleasantly expressionless looks, and Granger was still looking at her with a combination of incredulity and contempt.

There was also a house-elf, sitting in the middle of the floor and gazing around the room with enormous round eyes. Lily decided to focus on him.

"Whose elf is that?" she asked.

"No one's," Granger said, a little sharply, as if the question angered her. "Dobby is free."

"This was Malfoy's elf?" Alice asked, surprised. "The one who blew up the Aurors?"

The elf's reaction was immediate and horrible: he slammed his head straight into the floor, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Stop it, Dobby!" Granger exclaimed, grabbing hold of his shoulders and forcing him to face her. "Look at me."

The elf obeyed. Lily was struck by the tears in his eyes, and the grief in his face. This was nothing like how Sirius had described Kreacher.

"That was _not_ your fault," Granger said, her brown eyes hot and fierce. "Lucius Malfoy killed those people, and it was wrong that he used you, it was absolutely _vile._ It was _not_ your fault. If anyone should be punished, it's him."

"He is being punished, miss," Dobby said, sniffling. "Auror Moody is taking Dobby to see him in Azkaban, and he is looking very dirty and - and - and ugly." The elf shivered, but looked rather pleased to have uttered this insult.

"He _is_ ugly," Granger said fiercely. "All the way through. Please don't punish yourself, Dobby, it wasn't your fault."

"Dobby will not punish himself if it makes Hermione Granger unhappy!"

The woman looked pained. "You shouldn't punish yourself because it makes _you_ unhappy, Dobby."

"Dobby is not feeling unhappy when he punishes himself, miss. Dobby is used to it."

To Lily's surprise, the girl, who had been so furious and firm a few minutes ago, was suddenly near tears.

Severus, apparently recognizing the danger, said, "I imagine Dobby is not used to the idea that someone might be unhappy to see him in pain. I daresay that is worth more to him than his own comfort - is it not, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes welled with tears. "Yes, sir. It is worth much more."

And Lily saw something then, in the way the girl looked at Severus, that sent a greater shock through her than anything else had done. Lily understood, instantly, that the girl had applied Severus's words about the house-elf to Severus himself, as well - that he was not used to the idea that someone might be unhappy to see him in pain. That accounted for the welling of pity and compassion in her expression. What it did not account for was the intensity in her eyes, still shining with tears, split between a kind of terrible helplessness and fierce tenderness that Lily had only ever seen once before, the night she had told James about the Death Eater finding her and asking her to be one of them. He had been just as distraught, and just as tender, and that had been the night she had been certain she loved him.

To see someone looking at Severus Snape, of all people, with that kind of emotion, was completely baffling. Lily didn't think she had ever met a girl who didn't think he was creepy, and yet here this woman was, looking at him like she wanted to throw herself at him and either hug him or kiss him, Lily wasn't sure which.

Severus must have noticed it, too, because he colored and looked away from her, catching Lily's eye only to flush deeper and look down at the elf.

And Lily wondered then why she _didn't_ feel what the girl felt, for this boy who had been her first friend, whose pain had only ever caused her the most passing of discomforts.

Maybe there really was something wrong with her.

"I think it goes without saying," Severus told the elf, in what Lily suspected was an attempt to divert attention from himself, "that no one here would be happy to see you punish yourself, Dobby."

The Granger girl hastily wiped tears out of her eyes. Dobby beamed at Severus and said, "Thank you, sir. Dobby will try not to."

Alice, perhaps not aware of everything that had passed, shifted impatiently. "Can you tell us about the wards already?"

Granger wiped her eyes again and retreated to her corner of the sofa, looking suddenly much smaller and much younger than she had when Lily had first entered the room. "Yes, of course," she said. "Let's get to work."

They spoke for more than an hour. At one point, with a significant glance at Lily, Alice excused herself, and Lily suspected she had gone to send a message to Moody, or maybe Frank. Severus watched her suspiciously, and slid closer to the window, his gaze flickering up and down the street outside while Hermione Granger talked, and talked, and talked some more.

Her knowledge of wards was impressive. Most wards were charms, supplemented variously by runes, arithmantic equations, or more aggressive spells like hexes or curses. Lily had always loved runic charms, especially talismans (James and Sirius were both laden with them, and even Alice had agreed to wear a couple after making Lily change the colors), but Lily had only studied the most basic runic wards, and she had never taken Arithmancy at all.

The wards against house-elves were, to Lily's relief, primarily runic, and she could follow along easily enough with Granger's explanation, at least until she diverged into a tangent about the arithmantic calculations necessary to make the ward responsive to certain scenarios, like an attempt to tamper with the ward, or like the exceptions necessary to allow certain house-elves entry.

"Er - you can cast these, can't you?" Lily asked uncertainly, and she saw Severus's gaze leave the window for the first time in twenty minutes, flickering briefly between her face and Granger's with a dissatisfied glint, as if displeased that Granger knew something Lily clearly didn't.

"I never took Arithmancy," Lily added, a little defensively.

"Of course I can cast them," Hermione said. "They take quite a bit of time, though, so I'll have to come back at night, otherwise the Muggles might wonder what I'm doing, standing in the middle of the street with a wand."

It struck Lily as very strange that the girl, who, according to Moody, was Muggleborn, would refer to the neighbors as "the Muggles" as if she wasn't part of their world. Had she really separated herself from them that much? Lily still just thought of them as "people" (or, more often, "normal people").

"And you will allow Dobby access to this house?" Severus asked, glancing between them.

Lily bit her lip. "Er - I'll have to ask Mum, but I'm sure that's all right."

"Of course it is," her mother called from the kitchen, obviously unashamed to have been eavesdropping.

Severus smirked. He had always liked Lily's mother, and Lily rather suspected she was the only Muggle in the world he had not dismissed as thoroughly beneath him. Lily remembered the burnt photographs Moody had shown her, from that day at the fair. She wondered if she ought to have her mother look for their copies, so Severus could have a few. But how could she offer them to him? They weren't even friends, now. It was odd enough that he had kept the photos this long.

Pushing the thought aside, she said, "So if I'm in trouble, I just say Dobby's name? Is that how it works?"

"Yes, miss," Dobby said. "Dobby can listen for his name to be called by the Evans family."

"But _only,_ " Granger said sharply, " _before_ the Death Eaters get here. Don't wait until the last second, when they can hurt him -"

"- or you," Severus added.

"Of course," Lily's mother said, popping her head into the room. "And I'm sure the more secret this is, the better. It would only work once, otherwise."

"Exactly," Granger said. "Right now, the Death Eaters think house-elves are beneath them. They won't bother to ward against them. But if they know we're using house-elves, then that will change. Malfoy might suspect it, now that Moody's freed Dobby, but he's in Azkaban, so he can't exactly tell the other Death Eaters, can he? We just have to do everything we can to keep it a secret from the rest of them, for all our sake's, and especially for Dobby's."

"We will," Lily's mother said. "And Dobby, please know how grateful we are to you for offering to help us."

Dobby gazed at her so adoringly that Lily almost laughed. "Dobby is happy to help Mrs. Evans and her family!"

Her mother gave him the charming smile Lily had (fortunately) inherited, and returned to the kitchen and Lily's floral arrangements. Lily almost wished she had stayed; it was nice to feel like her mother was in charge of this, even though that wasn't fair at all. This was Lily's world, after all, not hers.

"So I'll come back tonight to set the wards," Granger said. "But now, we really should talk about security at your wed-"

"Dumbledore," Severus said.

"Yes, I think Dumbledore would be a good idea, but just in case -"

"No," Severus hissed, "I mean, _Dumbledore!_ He's in the street!"

Granger jumped to her feet, glaring at Alice. "Was that necessary?"

"Never mind that!" Severus snapped. "Let's go!"

Lily felt a rush of confusion. "But why? He just wants to talk -"

"I don't want to talk to him," Severus said coldly, and, in Lily's opinion, quite irrationally.

"But Sev, we're on the same side -"

"He is _not_ on my side!" Severus hissed. He grabbed hold of Granger's wrist. "Dobby - take us out of here -"

Dobby cast a slightly regretful look toward the kitchen, called, "Goodbye, Mrs. Evans!" and, taking hold of both his charges, Disapparated.

Dumbledore knocked on the door.

"Well," Alice said, "that was odd."

Frowning, Lily went to get the door. Dumbledore stood there, resplendent in robes of frosty blue.

"Professor," Lily greeted.

"Good morning, Lily," Dumbledore replied. "May I assume, from the crack of Apparation I just heard, that Mr. Snape and Miss Granger are no longer here?"

Lily sighed. "Severus panicked when he saw you. I have no idea why. But please, come in, sir. It's cold out."

Smiling serenely, Dumbledore stepped inside. "Ah, Mrs. Evans. A pleasure to see you again."

Lily's mother smiled broadly, and Lily knew why: her mother thought Albus Dumbledore was the only member of the Wizarding world who actually _looked_ like a wizard, and she liked him a great deal more for it.

"Professor Dumbledore, please come in. Are you here to talk about the wards, too?"

"I am not," Dumbledore said as they entered the sitting room, "although I understand Miss Granger had some excellent suggestions that, I must admit, had not occurred to me."

That stunned Lily a little. "They hadn't?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It would seem that even I am sometimes guilty of taking the smallest among us for granted. But no matter; no damage has been done, and we shall remedy the situation immediately. Has Miss Granger added the wards, Lily?"

"No," Lily said, "but she said she'd come back tonight to do it. I'm not sure if she will now, though, what with…" She trailed off.

"The risk of seeing me?" Dumbledore suggested, smiling again.

"She'll come back," Alice said. "She only came here because of Snape, and _he_ won't let her back out, no matter how much he doesn't like you, Professor."

Lily winced a little. That was _not_ something she would have said to the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Dumbledore, however, seemed unruffled. "I did not realize my presence would cause Mr. Snape to panic. I would have approached more cautiously, if I had."

Alice was giving Dumbledore a measuring look that Lily would not have dared use on him. "He said you weren't on his side."

Dumbledore didn't answer for a moment, but something, a shadow of something, passed over his face. "I see," he said finally, quietly.

"See what?" Alice prompted.

Dumbledore again hesitated before speaking. Then he said, "I suspect Mr. Snape feels that I have failed him - or, at least, that I treated him unfairly."

"Did you?"

Lily was uncomfortable with Alice's directness, but she couldn't help watching Dumbledore along with her mother and friend, curiously anticipating the answer.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said slowly. "At the time, I felt that Mr. Snape had acted wrongly, and, moreover, that he had deliberately violated the privacy of another student. He was very fortunate indeed that the consequences of his actions were not more severe. However… I am aware that he felt personally attacked, and that he was dissatisfied with my response. Justifiably, perhaps… but I was aware, even then, of the path he was likely to choose, and I confess that influenced my decision."

Lily hesitated, then said, "You're talking about that night with Remus, aren't you?"

Dumbledore's gaze flickered swiftly over the three women's faces, and, evidently satisfied that they were all already aware of the circumstances, nodded in confirmation.

Lily frowned. "But what do you mean, he felt 'personally attacked'? It wasn't Remus's fault."

Something else flickered in Dumbledore's gaze then, something almost like chagrin. "Have you - ah - discussed this with your fiance?"

Lily felt something uncomfortable wash through her, as her memory of Severus's words from the night of her engagement party swept back into her mind.

Her mother was obviously remembering as well. "You mean it's true? James and Sirius tried to kill him?"

Dumbledore hesitated. That was enough to make Lily sink onto the sofa, her heart suddenly so cold she almost thought it had stopped beating.

"I do not believe," he said slowly, "that they intended for the prank to end in his death. Mr. Snape had been following Remus for months, trying to verify that he was, in fact, a werewolf. Sirius thought it might be - ah - _beneficial,_ for him to receive a bit of a fright -"

"A bit of a fright?" Lily echoed sharply. "A _fright?_ Remus could have -" She couldn't even say the words.

Dumbledore's expression was grave. "I am well aware of what the consequences could have been. However, it is worth noting that when James learned of what Sirius had done, he set out at once to prevent Snape from reaching the end of the tunnel -"

"James didn't know?" Lily's mother interrupted, her gaze intent. "He didn't know ahead of time?"

"As far as I know, he did not."

Lily's mother gave him a piercing look, then relaxed slightly, the alarm that had sprung to her eyes beginning to fade, to be replaced with distaste. "And what did you do with Sirius?"

Dumbledore hesitated yet again. "I assigned him a week's worth of detentions -"

"A week!" Alice exclaimed, outraged. "That's all? For trying to kill him?"

Through the cold in her chest, Lily felt some surprise. Alice _hated_ Snape. Yet the reason for Alice's indignation became clearer as she continued, "McGonagall gave me more than that just for hexing him!"

" _Professor_ McGonagall," Dumbledore corrected gently, even as Lily asked, "You hexed him?"

"'Course," Alice said. "He called you a 'Mudblood.'"

Lily flinched. She was well aware that Severus had been thoroughly punished by just about every Gryffindor in their year after that comment, but Alice had never told her she was one of them.

Not that he hadn't deserved it. But Lily remembered well the months leading up to that moment, and how often she had told Severus he was ungrateful, after James Potter had saved his life, and how much the story had affected the way she had seen James, who until then had just been an obnoxious bully in her eyes - how it had affected the way she had seen James _that day,_ when he had dangled Severus upside down until his underpants showed, and she had thought, the whole while, about how ungrateful Severus had been, still insulting (and hexing) James at every opportunity, despite what James had done for him, and then siding with vermin like Mulciber and Avery after they had attacked Mary -

And all the while, James had been just as bad, staying friends with Sirius after he had attacked Severus -

But she _liked_ Sirius. He was her friend, too. He could be reckless and a little mad, but he was funny and brave, the other (less dear) half of James. Thinking of him as a murderer was impossible. Dumbledore was right, he wouldn't have wanted to kill Severus, he was just being stupid, as those four boys so often were. It had been wrong, but hopefully he had learned from it, unlike boys like Mulciber and Avery, who had been developing a taste for it.

But James - James had _lied_ to her. James had kept this from her deliberately. He had _lied._

Her heart, which felt so cold and heavy, sank so deep inside her chest she didn't know how he was going to be able to find it again. And finally, after a morning of desperately wanting to, she started to cry.


	20. Chapter 20

20

Dobby Apparated them into a small, snow-filled dell in the middle of a forest, where Severus and Granger sank nearly up to their thighs in the drift. Dobby, with a little squeak, disappeared completely.

Severus released Granger's wrist and dug through the snow until he could pull the elf out. Dobby shook his head, ears flopping and snow scattering in all directions. "Thank you, sir!"

With a small grunt of acknowledgement, Severus set the elf on a snow-caked log jutting out of the drift beside them, then climbed onto it himself and helped Granger up. Her hair was so full of white she looked like a banshee.

"What is this place?" Severus asked, curious.

"It was the first place Dobby thought of, sir! Master is making Dobby bury a body here once."

Severus saw the horrified look on Granger's face, and felt, quite conversely, a morbid urge to laugh. It was the same dark sort of mirth that had filled him when Granger had told him he had killed Dumbledore, and become headmaster. It was all too ludicrous, and yet too real.

Strange, how variously they responded to this war. Granger cried and had nightmares, Severus laughed, and Lily, he now suspected, was doing her level-best to pretend none of it was happening. It was not what he would have expected of her. She had always been quick to stand up for the less fortunate at Hogwarts, himself included. But then, she had also been naive, easily accepting his excuses for the bruises his father had given him, or for the number of times Potter and Black had landed him in the hospital wing. He knew that her parents deliberately sheltered her, and her father had even been opposed to her friendship with Severus because he was "not the sort of boy she needed to know." Mrs. Evans had been kinder, but she had also watched him carefully to make sure he was not a bad influence on her daughter, and Severus had always endeavored to appear as refined as possible in her presence. He completely understood her impulse to protect Lily; though Severus had confided in Lily once or twice that his father was not a happy man, the idea of her knowing the full indignity of his drunkenness and lowness had made his stomach squirm. He had never wanted Lily, bright Lily, to fall under that shadow.

Now, he was torn between the impulse to keep protecting her, and the inescapable feeling that perhaps she shouldn't be so utterly blind.

Her blindness concerning Potter was one thing. It infuriated him, of course, but he understood that she fancied the git and that it was clouding her judgment. The war, though… That was different. She might have been too innocent to suspect that Severus's father beat him, or that Potter and his friends might be capable of murder, but she had joined the Order of the Phoenix, and he knew at least two of its members had died in recent months. Had that really not made an impact on her? Did she really not understand that this was not the same as being a prefect or Head Girl, that she did not have power simply by virtue of being good, that she could be slaughtered as easily as the Aurors Severus had seen blasted to pieces in Malfoy Manor?

He was trying very hard not to think less of her for it, but the insidious feeling that she was being a complete fool was not easy, perhaps not even possible, to dispel.

"Let's get back to the tent," Granger said, trying to brush the snow out of her hair and only succeeding in making the bushy mess stick up in even more directions. "Here, Dobby, take my hand."

Dobby, who was bouncing from one bare dirty foot to the other in the cold snow on top of the log, accepted her hand gratefully. Severus, somewhat less eagerly, took hold of Granger's wrist, and she twisted them back into the clearing where they had made camp.

She urged them both into the tent, mothering Dobby in a way that would have made Severus jump out of skin, but which the elf seemed to experience with a sort of awed happiness. The girl wrapped him in a blanket, brought him hot chocolate, and absolutely insisted he sit on the sofa.

Then, in a very gentle voice, she asked, "Dobby? Did you happen to know - er - who the person was, that you - er - buried?"

"Dobby is not asking, miss," the elf said. "Master is only saying he was a Muggleborn."

Severus knew full well that Lucius would have said "Mudblood," not "Muggleborn," and felt both curious and impressed that the elf, who had clearly been denied any kind of meaningful education, had the understanding and tact to use a different word. Dobby was undeniably strange; Severus had met the Macnairs' elf, Podry, and found him to be extremely stupid and dull, which the other purebloods had (perhaps erroneously) suggested was the norm. Dobby, on the other hand, though pitiable, was also clever and questioning, and certainly had a distinctive personality of his own. There were even moments when Severus suspected the elf had a sense of humor.

"Well," Granger said sadly, "we'll have to find some way of alerting the Aurors. I'm sure whoever it is has been reported missing. The family could at least get some closure."

Severus half-expected her to tear up again, but she didn't. Her sad, weary resignation made it more than obvious that this was not the first time she had dealt with death, or even murder, and it seemed that the full brutal force of it could not strike her as sharply or as deeply as something as understated as cruelty to elves.

Then again, if everything she had said to Lily was to be believed - and Severus was inclined to think it was - then she had seen much worse than this. Severus tried to imagine how Lily would have responded to being Apparated to the site of an illicit burial, and felt certain she would have, at the very least, screamed, and probably tried to run away or Disapparate in a panic, and then insisted on an hour-long shower to wash away the horror of it all. (An hour was a conservative estimate. She had once taken that long just to recover from waking up with a spider in her hair.) It wasn't that Lily was weak, or even delicate; Severus had seen her respond to potions accidents with far greater alacrity than Slughorn, and she had once saved a first year from choking on a chunk of bacon with a well-incanted Unblocking Charm that Severus would never have trusted himself to use on a human throat. She _could_ handle herself - but there were things that she felt she _shouldn't_ handle, or shouldn't be _able_ to handle, and spiders and corpses were among them. He didn't know if it was because she was a girl (he was certain Mr. Evans, a complete fool of a Muggle, would have encouraged her to believe such nonsense), or if it was simply because she had grown up in a wealthier, more loving home than he had, where the reality of the world's grime and darkness had been gently tidied up and washed away. In either case, he had always believed Lily's sillier habits were due more to the way she saw herself than the way she really was.

Still, it was unexpected and rather intriguing to meet a girl who did not suffer those limitations. Granger simply added the anonymous body to her list of things to deal with, put on a kettle, and dug some of the pre-made Muggle food out of the cooling cupboard so they could have lunch.

She was very strange.

"I think we should still set the wards tonight," Granger said. "They'll probably be expecting us, but they can't cover the whole perimeter, and as the elf wards don't have to be linked to the rest of the wards, we could pick anywhere on the circle to set them, even inside one of the neighbors' houses if we have to. And even if they _did_ catch us, I don't think they'll hurt us."

Severus snorted. "Unless it's Potter or Black."

Granger rolled her eyes. "I think between the two of us we can handle them."

That sent a completely unexpected thrill through him, a strange feeling of - of anticipation, perhaps, or of - of not being alone. He felt warm, and pleased, and embarrassed. Lily had stepped in to defend him from Potter, of course, but only after Potter had already won. She had never tried to fight _with_ Severus, _against_ Potter, and, frankly, he didn't think she would have been very helpful if she had; no matter how bright she was, Lily was not a fighter.

Granger, on the other hand… He imagined fighting side by side with her, and couldn't help saying, "It might be an opportune moment to test your castration spell."

She tried very hard not to grin, he could tell, but her shiny white teeth were suddenly beaming at him. It took her a few seconds to regain control and state huffily, "It is _not_ a castration spell, I've already told you."

"My mistake. Your… shriveling spell, then."

She opted to bury her face in her mug of chocolate, but he could tell from the bright red of her cheeks above the rim and the stillness of her throat that she was too much in danger of laughing to actually risk drinking anything. Smirking, he pulled her list of goals toward him and examined it.

"Dobby," he said, "we have a few questions for you."

Granger calmed down pretty quickly at that, lowering her mug so she could look at the elf.

Severus turned in his chair to face Dobby as well. "Did you ever happen to see Lucius with a diary?"

* * *

Moody was lying in bed, the faint scent of sweat stirring from the sheets every time he shifted. The room was dark and too cold, creaking slightly with the wind outside and full of shadows that shifted by the light of the waxing moon. Moody was alone, and tired, but too restless to sleep. He thought he could still smell Stella, the lingering tease of her perfume drifting from his pillows to fill him with a bitterness he was still struggling to overcome.

Stella hadn't loved him, and he hadn't loved her, but they'd been occasional lovers for more than two years, ever since the Death Eaters had murdered a Muggle family under Stella's watch. Moody had never had to Obliviate her; she had shot one of the Death Eaters dead the night of the attack, and the Aurors had been more than willing to allow the Muggle authorities, Stella included, to believe that the Death Eater was an ordinary murderer, and that the case was solved. Stella had taken a liking to Moody, though, and he'd liked her back: she was tough, and angry, and didn't ask for much. But she was gone now, just like his leg: _because_ of his leg, though she hadn't said so. He didn't blame her, but he was angry, and the distant phantom itch of the limb beneath the Stella-scented sheets made him angrier.

The sudden _CRACK!_ of Apparation into the silence of his bedroom unleashed his anger before he even reached for his wand. His magic blasted across the room, smashing through the wall and probably demolishing half the room beyond.

"Auror Moody!" a high-pitched voice, well below the level of the new hole in his wall, squeaked up at him. "Auror Moody! Dobby is coming to report!"

Moody sat up, wandlessly igniting a lamp and scowling at the creature. "It's the middle of the damn night!" he growled.

Dobby was undeterred. "Dobby is coming now, sir, while Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are working on the Evans' wards! That way they cannot be suspecting Dobby, sir!"

Moody had to admit the elf's reasoning was valid. Still. "In future," Moody growled, "why don't you Apparate outside and knock on the door."

Dobby nodded fervently. "Dobby is sorry for startling Auror Moody."

Moody surveyed the damage he had caused. Dobby was damned lucky he was shorter than the intruder Moody had assumed was there. "Well? What's your report?"

Dobby's ears straightened excitedly. "Dobby is finding Hermione Granger and Severus Snape outside the Evans' house," he said, "and Dobby is agreeing to help the Evans family if the Death Eaters try to attack!"

Moody nodded. He had heard all this from Dumbledore already.

"Then Headmaster Dumbledore is coming to the house, sir, and Severus Snape is wanting us to leave! So we is Apparating away, sir, and Dobby is accidentally taking Hermione Granger and Severus Snape to a place where Dobby once buried a body, sir, for Master Malfoy."

Moody leaned forward. "A body? Whose body?"

"Dobby is not knowing, sir, but Dobby can show Auror Moody. Hermione Granger is wanting to tell the Aurors herself, sir, but Dobby thought he should tell Auror Moody first."

"Did you tell her that?" Moody asked sharply.

"No, sir, Dobby is keeping Auror Moody a secret."

Moody relaxed a little. "Good. That's good, Dobby. Give me a minute to put on some clothes and strap on this ruddy leg, and we can go see this body of yours."

"There is more, sir! Severus Snape is asking Dobby about a diary He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is giving Master Malfoy -"

"What?" Moody exclaimed.

"- and Dobby is telling them the Aurors took it from the house after Master Malfoy's arrest, sir! But Hermione Granger and Severus Snape is wanting to get it back!"

"Why?" Moody asked. "What's in the diary?"

"Dobby is not knowing, sir. Severus Snape is saying they must be destroying it, and Hermione Granger is hoping no one has been writing in it because they might be possessed."

That was disturbing. Moody scowled. "They'd better not be. Anything else?"

"Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are planning to sneak into Hogwarts, sir, but Dobby doesn't know when. And they are worried the Death Eaters will try to hurt Lily Evans at the wedding. Dobby is telling them he can Apparate the guests away if the Death Eaters attack, but Hermione Granger is worried Dobby will be hurt." The elf smiled suddenly. "Hermione Granger is not wanting Dobby to be hurt!"

"Good girl," Moody remarked. "All right, we're working on the wedding. Lily Evans asked Dumbledore to come himself. Apparently she had a bit of a breakdown today. As for those two sneaking into Hogwarts… Did they mention what they were looking for?"

Dobby nodded. "They are wanting to find evidence in old _Daily Prophet_ articles about a Healer, sir, and they are looking for the diadem of Ravenclaw."

Moody was baffled. "The diadem of Ravenclaw? That's been lost for centuries."

"Hermione Granger knows where it is, sir. She says they are needing basilisk fangs to destroy it, but Severus Snape is reminding her the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets is still alive."

"The - what? What the hell are you talking about, Dobby? Start at the beginning. Tell me everything."

* * *

Lily was hiding in her room when she heard James's voice downstairs. Ordinarily, she would have bounded out to meet him, but at the moment she didn't particularly feel like seeing anyone.

She was embarrassed, and tired, and, for the first time, nervous about getting married. She had been nervous about the wedding before, of course, about the dress and the flowers and the guests, but now there was a deep anxiety roiling in her gut, the feeling that maybe she was, in fact, too young to make this kind of decision.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

A few more tears slipped out of her eyes, bitter reminders of her humiliating breakdown in front of Dumbledore that morning. He had been very kind, and not at all panicked by her tears the way boys always were, but she hadn't been able to stop crying for nearly half an hour, and she thought even Alice was a little appalled by her display.

She had heard people say that crying could make them feel better, but that was not how she felt. She felt sick and ugly and trapped and betrayed. Most of all, she felt ashamed. Ashamed for crying in front of Dumbledore, ashamed for not believing Severus, and most of all ashamed that what she had assumed was her undying love for James was suddenly very much in question.

Lily had often heard herself described as a kind person, but she knew full well that she was unforgiving. And James had lied to her, to his future wife. How was she supposed to marry him now?

But she couldn't _not_ marry him, because of this horrible law!

For the first time, she really understood what this must be like for everyone else, everyone who didn't have a James, who didn't have anyone. The idea of marrying James was, at the moment, quite hideous to her. And yet if she didn't…

Azkaban. And she knew that would be worse.

She felt trapped, and frightened. She wanted to scream, but suspected that would do about as much good as crying had - in other words, that it would just make things worse.

Why couldn't boys just be _good?_ Why did they have to lie and call names and hurt people and start wars? They were all so _stupid._

She heard footfalls on the stairs, and felt her heart drop. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to deal with this at all.

So she did something she had never done before. She slid her window open, cast a Cushioning Charm beneath her, and jumped out.

The feeling of release was coupled with the strangely delightful sensation of doing something _wrong._ So this was how James and Sirius felt every time they were sneaking around being moronic Marauders. Lily felt a burst of energy, not at all muffled by the stupidity of sneaking out in nothing but her pajamas, dressing gown, and slippers. When she heard the knock on her door up above, and James's voice calling her name, a little spike of fear and spite drove through her heart.

She ran.

The pavement was slippery, and she found her slippers skidding on the ice, but she was running fast enough that it didn't matter. Every stumble just kept carrying her forward, until she found her stride again, and ran, and ran.

She felt the wards coalesce in the air around her, then release her. She was being stupid, so stupid, but it felt so good to be _free -_

She slammed into something - someone - hands closed on her arms -

She let out a terrified shriek.

"Lily!"

"Severus!" Lily gasped, and in her relief that it was him and not a Death Eater she threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sev, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

She could tell by the stiff way he stood against her that he was shocked. "Lily - what's happened - are you hurt? Why were you running?"

His wand was out, his other arm curving protectively around her. It felt - different. She didn't want to recoil from his touch, but he wasn't James, either.

She started crying.

"Lily!" he said sharply. "What's happened?"

"I-I-I didn't b-believe you!"

Severus didn't speak for a long moment. Then he asked, in a tight tone, "Is this about Potter?"

She nodded into his shoulder. "He lied to me! To _me!_ And we're s-supposed to get m-married!"

Severus said nothing for another long moment. Then he nudged her backward a bit. "You shouldn't be outside the wards, Lily. It's dangerous."

She leaned back to glare at him stubbornly. " _You're_ outside the wards."

"To make sure nobody can take _you_ out of them," he reminded her.

She sniffled. He was being annoying. Didn't he _understand?_ Everything had changed.

"He lied to me," she repeated.

Severus's face had turned to the expressionless mask she hated. "That is no excuse for leaving the wards."

"Why are you _being_ like this?" she snapped, pushing him a little.

"Like what?"

"Like it doesn't matter!"

There was something behind that emotionless mask, she could see it. His dark eyes were glittering in the light of the streetlamps, and his arm, still half-wrapped around her, was rigid. Yet he said nothing.

She pushed his arm away. "He lied to me!"

"What would you like me to say?"

She almost stamped her feet in her frustration. "That it was wrong! That he shouldn't have done it! He shouldn't have lied to me!"

"Very well, Lily. He shouldn't have lied to you."

Lily took a step back from him. His voice was cold, much colder than she had ever heard it. In that moment, she almost did step back through the wards, just to get away from him.

But he made no move toward her. He stood straight and unmoving, his dark robes fading into the black of the street while his pale face shone dimly in the moonlight. His black eyes were as cold as his voice.

"Don't you care?" she asked.

Something dark and icy burned in his eyes. "Do I care," he asked quietly, "that he lied to you?"

She crossed her arms. "It was _wrong._ "

"Yes," Severus replied in a low voice, "very wrong. By far the worst thing he has ever done, wouldn't you agree?"

Lily flinched. "I -"

"It must be so _shocking_ to you," he continued, still in that quiet, cold voice, "to discover that James Potter has a flaw. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this revelation -"

"Severus -"

"- there was never the slightest _hint -_ "

"Stop it!"

To her relief, Severus shut his mouth. His cold black eyes glittered at her, though, and she looked away.

Only to see Hermione Granger standing a few feet away from them, watching in avid silence.

Lily jumped at the sight of her. Had she been standing there the whole time? Had she heard everything?

Abruptly, Lily turned away from them both. She wanted to go home, though she didn't want to see James. But going home wouldn't help anything. _Nothing_ would help anything. She had to marry James. That was the end of it.

"I'm going home," she said.

"Allow us to escort you," Severus said, in a tone that made it clear it was not a request.

"I'll be fine behind the wards -"

"The wards only protect you from wizards," Severus replied, "and you are _not_ dressed appropriately."

She flushed. Her dressing gown had flown open while she ran, and she hastily pulled it shut again, wondering just how much Severus had been able to see through the thin, lacy fabric of her nightgown in the dark.

She didn't think any of the neighbors were like that, but still...

"Fine," she said.

She held the wards open for them, glaring slightly at Hermione Granger, who ducked her head and avoided Lily's gaze. The girl walked several feet apart from them, but she hardly needed to; Lily and Severus didn't speak to each other again.

Lily was finally starting to feel the cold of the January night, and she shivered as frost and ice sparkled alternately gold in the lamplight and silver in the moonlight. James would have offered her his cloak, but Severus was either too angry or too preoccupied to bother.

She didn't want to think about what he had said. She knew James had picked on him, but it was just boys being boys, and it wasn't like Severus's Slytherin friends hadn't picked on other students. Severus had always hexed James and Sirius back, usually with far nastier spells than they had used. James still had a small scar on his face from that day after the O.W.L.s, and Sirius had reluctantly admitted that one of the scars on his knee was from Severus, too. They had all been fighting with each other, all the time. It wasn't fair for Severus to expect her to hate James just because he did.

She could hear raised voices coming from her house before they even reached the garden gate. She supposed it was about her - she really shouldn't have run away - but as she opened the gate, she heard James shout, "PETER IS NOT A TRAITOR!"

She froze. From the corner of her eye, she saw Severus turn toward Granger, and felt more than saw the girl draw closer.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT SNAPE SAID!"

Lily rounded on Severus. "What is he talking about?"

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Why don't we find out?"

Lily hesitated. She could think of few worse ideas than letting James and Severus be in the same room, but then again, she was angry enough with both of them that maybe she didn't care.

"Fine," she said again.

The front door was unlocked, and they all slipped inside without anyone noticing right away. As Lily quietly shut the door, she heard Sirius say, "He's obviously working for the Death Eaters -"

"Trying to tear us apart -" James added.

"Then how did he know about Peter's secret nickname?" Alice asked. "I didn't even know."

"I dunno - maybe he heard us say it," James countered. "What does it matter? Peter wouldn't betray us -"

"You don't _know_ that, James -"

"I DO know it. Peter is our friend, he would _never_ betray us. Snape is a liar -"

"So are you," Lily said, walking into the room. Frank and Alice, Sirius and James all looked at her. Lily stared straight at James. "You lied to me."

James looked uncomfortable. "About what?"

"You don't know? Was there more than one lie?" Lily asked sharply.

"No, Lily, I haven't lied about any-"

"You lied about Severus! About what happened that night he went up to the Shrieking Shack!"

James shut his mouth. Lily felt tears stinging her eyes again, and resolutely ignored them. "You lied to me."

"I didn't lie," he hedged. "We never talked about -"

"You _knew_ what I thought happened!" Lily snapped. "You knew I didn't know the truth!"

"And who told you the truth?" Sirius asked, his gaze suddenly fixed on the doorway behind her, where Severus was standing half in shadow. " _Him?_ "

Alice snorted. "Dumbledore."

James and Sirius both went a little pale. Frank, who was standing by the mantel, asked quietly, "What happened in the Shrieking Shack?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Apparently Sirius told Snape how to get through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack on the full moon. Of course he tried it, the idiot, and ended up almost getting eaten by Remus -"

"It wasn't that close," James said. "He just sort of got a little glimpse -"

Frank gave him an unreadable look. "Of a werewolf?"

James shrugged awkwardly. "I stopped him before it was too late."

"And then Dumbledore covered it up," Alice finished. "Told Snape he couldn't tell anybody. And Sirius only got a _week_ of detention, can you believe that?" She shook her head. "Must be nice to have Dumbledore like you."

Sirius grinned. "He knew Snivellus deserved it."

"That is absolutely disgusting, Sirius," Lily's mother said, appearing in the doorway behind Severus, who jumped. He tried to move out of the way, but she put a hand on his shoulder, glaring at Sirius all the while. "What you did was reprehensible. You owe Severus an apology."

Lily felt her face burn red with embarrassment, but it was nothing to the scarlet that suffused Sirius's cheeks. James looked like he was trying to sink into his chair and disappear.

"Mrs. Evans," Sirius said, trying (quite unwisely) to flash her one of his charming grins. "You don't know Snape -"

"Actually," she said curtly, "I've known him since he was a small boy. I think it would be more accurate to say I don't know _you,_ and if you want to continue associating with my daughter - or spending time in my house - then you will apologize, at once. I will not tolerate that type of callousness or cruelty here. What you did was _not_ funny, and I think you'll realize soon enough that your nasty little nicknames are not impressive to anyone. You're not a child anymore, and it's time you stopped acting like one."

Lily didn't think there had ever been so much tension in her sitting room in the whole of her childhood combined. James was obviously trying to pretend he was under his Invisibility Cloak. Alice was red in the face, but it might have been from trying not to laugh. Frank was looking at Lily's mother with deeper respect than Lily had ever seen him show anyone, and Severus looked like he had no idea what to do.

Sirius, of course, was humiliated, though whether he actually felt ashamed was unclear. "You don't know what Snape has done -"

"I am aware that Severus called my daughter a 'filthy little Mudblood.'"

Severus flinched beneath her hand. Lily saw her fingers squeeze his shoulder.

"I am also aware that he has apologized on several occasions, and that he nearly died after warning her of the Death Eaters' threats. I, for my part, forgive him, although I understand why Lily hasn't. But you, Sirius, are obviously _not_ sorry for what you did, despite the fact that you could have killed an innocent boy, and I find that far more disturbing than any name-calling. So I repeat: you will either apologize, or you will leave this house. My daughters are more precious to me than anything in this world, and I will not risk their safety or their integrity by exposing them to a young man who is too selfish to show compassion for others and too arrogant to apologize for his wrongs. That is _not_ the sort of man any decent person," and here her eyes shot to James, "should associate with."

Sirius was as crimson as his robes, his face twisted up as he obviously struggled with the prospect of apologizing to Severus Snape. Severus, on the other hand, was glowing.

Finally, Sirius's expression cleared, and he plastered on his absolutely most charming grin. "Sorry, mate."

Severus looked like he would have sooner stabbed Sirius with a fork than accept his apology, but fortunately Lily's mother didn't seem to feel that forgiveness was necessary. "Now, Severus, Hermione, perhaps you could tell us more about this 'Wormtail' comment you overheard. Apparently Sirius and James think it refers to their friend Peter… although why anyone would call a _friend_ 'Wormtail' is beyond me."

James, Sirius, and Frank, who hadn't seen Hermione Granger before, all leaned forward slightly as Lily's mother pushed both her and Severus into the sitting room. Granger looked like a deer in headlights, her gaze darting from face to face with a combination of curiosity and apprehension. Severus folded his arms and leaned against the wall as far from the boys as possible.

"Malfoy never specified to whom the name referred," Severus said. "Only that he believed the person in question would be very useful in passing information about the Order of the Phoenix."

Lily, who had barely had time to process James's shouting before, felt her heart clench now. "You think Peter might be a spy for the Death Eaters? He would never!"

"That's what I said!" James exclaimed, with a hopeful look at her that she decisively ignored.

"You call him 'Wormtail,'" Alice pointed out. "Why _wouldn't_ he betray you?"

"But Peter is too -" Lily cut off, not sure how to say it.

"Too inept?" Severus suggested. "Too talentless, too cowardly?"

"Peter's not a coward!" James said steadfastly, but Sirius had the slightest trace of doubt on his face now.

"Pettigrew has spent his entire life ingratiating himself to the most powerful people around him," Granger said, drawing all eyes to her. "Finding people who could protect him, help him, give him advantages he couldn't get for himself. The Death Eaters are, by all appearances, winning this war. Pettigrew wants to be on the winning side."

"How would you know?" James argued. "You've never even met him!"

"Anyway, Peter knows we'll protect him," Sirius said. "We won't let the Death Eaters hurt him -"

Granger snorted, but it was Frank who said, "Death Eaters have killed a dozen Aurors in the past year alone. Do you really think you stand a better chance?"

"And how much protecting are you actually doing?" Alice added. "You're a fugitive, aren't you?"

Granger looked at Sirius in surprise. "A fugitive? For what?"

Sirius grinned. "Being a bachelor."

Granger gaped at him for a moment, then shut her mouth, looking more thoughtful than anything.

"Can we get back to Peter?" James said. "I'm not going to condemn him just on Snape's word - or on Malfoy's," he added hastily, with a sideways look at Lily's mother. "Malfoy could have been trying to trick him -"

"Right before trying to murder him?" Alice asked, skeptical.

"Or maybe Malfoy is just hoping to turn him -"

"Or maybe he really is a traitor," Alice countered. "We can't take a chance like that, we can't let him into Order meetings -"

"We can't just condemn him without proof! That's the kind of thing Crouch would do!"

That struck a nerve in everyone, even Severus, judging by his expression.

"Well, we should tell Dumbledore, then," Alice said. "If Peter's thinking about betraying us, I bet Dumbledore can get him to spill his guts."

Nearly everyone nodded in agreement. Most of them had been on the receiving end of Dumbledore's piercing stare at least once during their time at Hogwarts, and Lily knew she, for one, could never have lied to Dumbledore even if she had wanted to.

"All right," James said reluctantly. "But not a word to Worm- I mean, to Peter. I don't want him to think we don't trust him. We're his friends."

Alice made a face at him, but Lily, despite her anger, couldn't help feeling that _this_ was the sort of thing that made James a good person: his love for his friends, his loyalty, his determination to see the best in - well, not in _everyone,_ but at least in most people.

Severus was looking at him like he found those very qualities deeply repulsive.

"Did you set the wards?" Alice asked Granger.

Granger, who had still been eyeing Sirius with a speculative look, jumped a little and nodded.

"Yes, we'd just finished when - er - when Lily joined us."

Everyone looked at Lily.

"What were you doing out there?" James asked.

Lily crossed her arms. "Avoiding you."

James, to her conflicted regret, looked hurt. "Er - could we talk alone?"

Sirius sprang up immediately. "I'm going to find Peter."

"Sirius -"

"I won't say anything. I just want to check in, see how he's doing."

James looked ready to object, but Sirius was already out the door.

"We'll tell Dumbledore," Alice said.

She and Frank left, and Severus and Granger followed after them, Severus with a sort of awkward bow to Lily's mother, who smiled indulgently and went to shut the door behind them.

Which left Lily and James alone.

"I know I messed up," James said. "I should've told you what happened. I'm sorry."

Lily's arms were still crossed, and she kept them that way. "Why didn't you tell me?"

James let out a loud breath. "Why d'you think? I know what Sirius did was wrong, that's why I stopped it -"

"But you're still friends with him -

"Of course I'm still friends with him!" James exploded. "He's my best friend, he's like my brother! And Snape -" His nose wrinkled. "You might not want to hear it, Lily, but Snape's not a good person. His fixation with the Dark Arts - with you -"

"So Sirius tried to kill him because of me, is that it?"

"No - I dunno -"

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

James shrugged uncomfortably. "We talked about - I don't know. We talked about a lot of things. Things we could do to Snape. But it was all for laughs, we weren't actually going to _do_ any of them. Or I thought we weren't. Sirius just - just didn't understand that there was a line, that sometimes things like that really are just talk -"

"Things like _what?_ "

"Like -" James took a deep breath. "Like telling him how to get into the Shrieking Shack. That was my idea -"

"You -"

"But I wasn't serious!" James countered. "It was just - just one of a hundred things we said, jokes about -"

"- about killing him?"

James flushed. "Well, yeah. But they were _jokes,_ Lily."

"Ha, ha."

"I know it's not funny… now. After what happened at Snape's house, and Malfoy Manor. But we were kids, Lily, and he was a creepy little git. It was just… It was stupid."

"Obviously Sirius didn't think so."

James hesitated. "Sirius just… gets carried away, sometimes. He grew up in a different kind of family than we did. I didn't really understand that, until then, that things like that were actually _real_ for him. After what he did with Snape, though, we talked about it, and I made sure he wouldn't do it again."

"He still thinks it's funny!"

"Only because it's Snape."

"And what has he ever done to you?"

It wasn't the first time she had asked him that question, and she could tell he was remembering that, too. He was smart enough not to get clever about it this time, though.

He simply said, "He had you."

Lily really shouldn't have let that melt her heart. What James had done was wrong, and she knew it. But he was looking at her with that intense, tender look again, and she felt the cold inside her beginning to thaw.

Who was she kidding? Her heart was bubbling with warmth.

But she haughtily tilted her chin up and said, "That's very stupid."

James could tell she was forgiving him. He grinned. "Love makes you stupid."

And Lily, though she knew he was completely right, rushed into his arms with a sob.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Outside the Evans' house, the winter night was bitterly cold, biting through Severus's ragged robes and the ill-fitting cloak Granger had given him with icy ruthlessness. Ahead of him, Alice - Longbottom, now, he supposed - gripped hold of the garden gate to avoid slipping, while her husband reached out to help her, and Granger stopped to wait for them to move through.

Severus shouldn't have taken that moment to look back at the sitting room window, but he did. Lily and Potter were standing face-to-face, Lily's shoulders still tense with anger, but Severus could see from the look on Potter's face that he knew all would be forgiven.

Severus looked away. He knew it, too.

"Why don't you come with us?" Alice Longbottom was saying. "I'm sure Moody would like to talk to you -"

Granger shot a look at Severus. He shook his head.

"Why not?" Alice asked, arms folded.

Severus, whose attention was still focused on the house behind him, stared at her without speaking.

"He likes you, you know," she said. "He's been defending you in Order meetings for months. He even told Dumbledore he should have recruited you."

The darkness bubbled up in Severus again, and he laughed. The girls both looked startled; Longbottom alone seemed unmoved.

"Do you think you can do this alone?" he asked.

Severus remembered, almost painfully, what his older self had said, that he was naive, that he would need help. The memory was a world away now.

"Do you think I need _your_ help?" Severus snarled. "Two Auror _trainees_?"

Alice snorted. " _I_ wasn't offering to help you. I was just saying Moody might."

Severus glared at her. She glared right back. To Severus's intense annoyance, Granger said, "I think Frank and Alice could be helpful, you know."

Severus sneered at her. "Do you?"

"They have rings," she said.

They all looked at Alice's hand, which glittered with a small diamond, and Frank's, which bore a simple band of gold.

Ministry rings. From the filthy marriage law. Rings that monitored copulation and conception.

"How is that helpful?" Alice asked, with some disgust.

But Severus knew exactly what Granger was thinking. "Can you do it?" he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"I don't know," Granger said. "I'd have to look at them."

Alice was frowning at them both, but Frank had caught on. "You think you can circumvent the requirements?"

"I don't know," Granger repeated. "But I _would_ like to take a look at those, sometime."

"Not even Dumbledore has figured that out!" Alice scoffed, but Severus thought she was looking at Granger with impressed curiosity.

"It's worth a try," Granger offered with a shrug.

"Fine," Severus said. "But not now." He made the mistake, then, of glancing back at the house.

Lily and Potter were fully snogging now.

He jerked away from the sight, face burning. His mind was a sudden wildfire of images: Potter's hand in Lily's red hair, Lily's fingers cupping Potter's ear, Potter's eyes shut in pleasure, Lily's tongue -

"Face it, mate," Alice said, clapping him jarringly on the shoulder. "You never had a chance."

He tried to give her a black look, but he was raw inside, and he suspected she could see it - that they all could.

"You really ought to tell Moody about Pettigrew," Granger said pointedly.

Frank Longbottom nodded, his wife reluctantly following as he set off down the street toward the wards. Granger gripped Severus's elbow and pulled him in the opposite direction. He yanked his arm out of her grasp.

She said nothing. In fact, she barely looked at him - though whether to offer him privacy, or because she was too embarrassed, he didn't know. She had witnessed the scene earlier, when he had lost his temper with Lily, and then everything Mrs. Evans had said. He didn't want to imagine what she, or anyone else, might think. For years his feelings for Lily had been his most closely-guarded secret. Now the Death Eaters knew, Potter and his friends knew, and for all he knew the entire Order knew. Granger, of course, had already known, but he imagined there was a substantial difference between seeing the carefully contained regret of his older, colder self and this - _mess_ \- that he was right now.

He had only lost his temper with Lily once before, and it had ruined everything. What would have happened if he hadn't lost it tonight? Would she have forgiven him? Would she have left Potter? Would she have wanted to be Severus's friend again?

How much had he just thrown away, for the sake of - what? Punishing her?

He _loved_ her. Why did he have to be such a worthless fool about it?

And yet - and yet he was _still_ angry. _He lied to me! He lied to me!_ How tragic! If Potter had treated Lily the way he had treated Severus, Severus would have murdered him with his bare hands. Potter had hunted him and tormented him, had locked him in cupboards and stripped him naked in front of the entire school. Was it really so unreasonable for Severus to feel that those incidents should have rendered Potter permanently unmarriageable? And Lily was upset that he had lied!

And now she was snogging him!

Severus ground his teeth. He almost wanted to turn around and march back to the house, to tell her what an utter fool she was being. Almost, but not quite. Because what could she do now? She would be nineteen at the end of the month, and have only a month after that to get married. There was no one else, besides Potter, that she had even looked at. Of course, she could move to Australia, which Severus would have considered an infinitely preferable option, but this was Lily: she wouldn't leave home.

Which meant he couldn't leave, either. And he was going to have to find a way around this blasted law.

He eyed Granger sideways. Could she really find a way to trick the Ministry rings? Alice Longbottom had said even Dumbledore couldn't, but who knew how much effort Dumbledore had really put into it. Most of his precious Gryffindors had already been paired up, and evidently Black was enjoying his new status as fugitive. Certainly Dumbledore would have opposed the law in principle, but he also opposed bullying in principle, and Severus knew exactly how much time he had actually dedicated to eradicating _that._

He didn't want to put his trust in Granger, despite what his older self had said. He didn't want to put his trust in anyone. But she had proven, thus far, that she was willing to stand by him. And she was obviously a strategist, much more than he would have expected of any Gryffindor. She had written her list of goals, and they were actually _accomplishing_ them.

Dobby was curled up in a wad of blankets on the couch when they returned to the tent, and Granger cast a _Muffliato_ in his direction before lighting a single candle at the table and pulling out her list.

 _Elf wards for Lily_ was the most recent item on the list, and she struck it out, then added a note beside Pettigrew's entry: _Order aware._

"I think we should do Hogwarts next," she whispered, casting an eye in Dobby's direction to make sure her voice was pitched low enough. The elf didn't stir.

"We still need an alternative to basilisk fangs," Severus replied.

They had debated this at some length earlier that day. Granger had been all set to break into the Chamber of Secrets to rip a few fangs out of the basilisk's cracked skull until Severus had reminded her that her precious Harry Potter hadn't killed it yet. Her embarrassment had been acute.

"And the sword of Gryffindor won't work either," she had mused, chewing on her lip, "because it hasn't been impregnated with basilisk venom yet…"

Now, Severus returned to his earlier point. "I still think Fiendfyre is the best solution -"

"You said you don't know if you can control it!"

"I _will_ control it," he said firmly.

"And if you don't, we'll burn to death like Crabbe!"

Severus waved this away. "I think I have more magical skill than a _Crabbe,_ Granger."

She opened her mouth, then shut it, evidently half-persuaded by that assertion. He pressed the advantage.

"We'll take it somewhere out of the way, somewhere it can be contained in the _extremely unlikely_ event that I lose control."

"But you've never tried it before, you don't know what will happen!" Granger was so anxious she was forgetting to whisper.

Pointedly, he kept his voice low. "You had never healed ribs before, and I trusted you, didn't I?"

It was emotional blackmail, but it was highly effective.

"Oh, all right," Granger muttered. "But where should we take it?"

Severus had already considered this. "The Hebrides. There are several small uninhabited islands out there, we can choose one of them. There would be no danger of harming anyone. And Fiendfyre can't travel over the ocean."

Granger bit her lip, searching for a flaw in this plan, then nodded. "Do you think tomorrow night is too soon to sneak into Hogwarts? I hate to rush in without planning, but the sooner we get this done -"

"- the sooner we can win the war, topple the Ministry, and revoke the marriage law," Severus finished, only half-joking. "Tomorrow night will do."

* * *

Moody surveyed the dell with a feeling of deep unease.

According to Dobby, this was the only time and place the elf had ever helped Malfoy dispose of a body, and that only because Malfoy had sustained an injury to his wand arm during the attack preceding the Muggleborn's death. After explaining the specifics of Snape and Granger's conversation (most of which still didn't make sense: Why did they need the diary, or the diadem? Why did they need basilisk fangs? And how the hell did they know about all this to begin with?), Dobby had Apparated Moody to this deep, snow-shadowed dell, told him he needed to get back to the tent (they were living in a _tent?_ ), and then Disapparated, leaving Moody to the grave digging.

Moody had called in Robards to help, just in case Malfoy had left any nasty surprises. They had cleared away the snow and begun searching the frozen ground in the darkness.

Now, the first dim light of dawn shifted and broke around a swarm of Aurors, all carefully sweeping the area for a quarter-mile in every direction. So far, they had found nothing outside of the dell, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

The body Dobby had buried, as it turned out, was not the only one.

Graves had been found all through the dell, eighteen at the last count. Whether they were all Malfoy's doing or whether this was a common Death Eater dumping ground had yet to be determined, but none of that was what disturbed Moody now.

What disturbed him was that the graves were empty.

Oh, there were traces left. Bits of cloth, the odd shoe, a few small bone fragments. That was how the Aurors had been counting the graves. But the bodies themselves were gone; moreover, from the number of broken fingernails they'd found, the corpses had clawed their way out.

Inferi. Moody, hardened Auror though he was, felt a twisting revulsion at the thought. Dumbledore had warned them this might happen, but to see it now - _eighteen_ of the damn things - was shocking. Grindelwald had used Inferi during the last war, but Moody had been in school then, not out fighting, and they'd been on the continent, which at that point had seemed far enough away.

Moody didn't know where these Inferi were, and that was a serious problem. Voldemort could even now be plotting to set them loose in a Muggle village, or Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley. The response in either of the latter two cases would be quick; most wizards and witches who had been alive during the last war knew that fire was the way to deal with them. The impact on the public, however, would be severe. People were afraid enough as it was, without dead bodies walking around.

And if Voldemort unleashed them on the Muggles… Who knew how much damage they would do before wizards found out? Eighteen of them could probably wipe out an entire village, and if Voldemort was on hand to reanimate those new victims…

Moody stumped over to where Robards was crouching, glad the ground was still hard enough to support his wooden leg.

"Toenails," Robards muttered, grimacing as he held up a box for Moody's inspection. "Long, dirty, bloody toenails."

"Savage found a tongue," Moody replied unsympathetically. "Fresh one, squirming with magg-"

"All right, all right. Toenails it is," Robards said, looking slightly green. "Reckon some of these are years old."

Moody nodded. Other Aurors had said the same.

"You'd think they'd've preserved them better, wouldn't you?" Robards said. "If - _this_ \- was the plan all along." He gestured to the expanse of empty graves.

Moody considered that. Preservation Charms were not, in fact, all that difficult. So maybe Voldemort hadn't planned on using Inferi until recently. Or maybe he just didn't care.

"Makes you wonder how many more of these there are," Robards said.

"It does," Moody agreed, with another twist of his insides. "Makes you wonder a lot of things."

* * *

It was nearly evening by the time Moody could get away. First there were the graves, then the meetings with Crouch and the Minister, then the unsuccessful raids on the remaining Lestrange properties (Moody hadn't really expected to find Bellatrix Lestrange on one of her family's known estates, but they couldn't _not_ look), and then there'd been a new Death Eater attack, not with Inferi but with giants, right in the middle of Lancaster. The Obliviators were still hard at work when Moody Disapparated, while Magical Repair teams were sweeping the streets, fixing any damage that was obviously magical in origin.

It was almost an inconvenience to Apparate to Hogwarts, but Dumbledore needed a report, and, though Moody was loath to admit it, he needed a break.

The stairs were a bloody pain these days, but Moody was beginning to get used to it. Portraits watched him, whispering to each other, as he lurched upward one stair at a time, half-wishing he had accepted the Healer's recommendation of a cane. But a cane was a hindrance, a weakness; Moody needed to strengthen up, and fast.

Still, the revolving stairway up to Dumbledore's office was a welcome chance to catch his breath.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said eagerly when he appeared.

"Albus," Moody greeted, not making any effort to resist the squashy armchair Dumbledore had Conjured. He'd been on his feet - foot - all day, and he was glad of the sudden relief.

He was likewise happy to accept the tumbler of firewhiskey Dumbledore offered him, downing it in one gulp while Dumbledore helped himself to a small glass of mead.

"You heard about the bodies?" Moody asked.

"I heard about their absence," Dumbledore replied.

"Eighteen graves. Magical Forensics says it's twenty-one corpses, though. And those are only the ones that left pieces behind."

Dumbledore nodded, looking neither surprised nor disgusted, though he looked grave.

"Another nine dead in Lancaster," Moody continued, "and we're lucky it wasn't more. One of the giants slipped on the ice and cracked his head open. The other giant abandoned the attack to carry him off."

"The nine were all Muggles?"

"Yep. By the time we got there, it was all over. Death Eaters and giants gone."

"Any indication that they were looking for something specific?"

"Churches again," Moody said. "They smashed two."

Dumbledore nodded. The Death Eaters had destroyed four churches in the last month, including the attack that had claimed Moody's leg, all in Muggle towns that had hanged witches in the 1600s. With all the fuss about the marriage law, the attacks had barely made it into the _Prophet,_ and even when they did, there were few wizards who could really muster up the appropriate outrage when the headlines proclaimed things like "Death Eaters Avenge Witches Hanged by Muggles" and "Muggle Town Responsible for Witch's Death Finally Held Accountable" - and the Minister, damn him, hadn't bothered to contradict that trash.

"Talked to Pettigrew yet?" Moody asked.

Dumbledore's expression, for the first time, faltered from its usual calm. "No. It would seem Sirius Black took it upon himself to confront his friend, at which point Peter - in Sirius's words - 'scampered.'"

"He escaped?" Moody growled, sitting upright.

Dumbledore nodded, still with a flicker of anger in his eyes. "Sirius insists that he did not openly confront Peter, but evidently his behavior was suspicious enough that Pettigrew felt compelled to flee -"

"And Black didn't stop him?"

"He tried, of course. But apparently - and, again, I use Sirius's words - Peter was 'slimier than anticipated.'"

"The damned fool," Moody growled.

"It was certainly unwise," Dumbledore agreed. "And may have cost us a great deal."

Moody scowled for a few moments, then grunted, "Snape's information was good, though."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes. Severus Snape has been more helpful than I would have expected."

Moody rolled his eyes. Dumbledore, too, could be a fool sometimes. A brilliant, lovable fool, but a fool nonetheless.

"Well, let's hope his information stays good," Moody says, "because I stole evidence today that he wants to get his hands on."

"Evidence?"

"From Malfoy Manor." Moody reached into his pocket, drew out the diary (wrapped carefully in warded cloth), and set it on Dumbledore's desk.

Carefully, Dumbledore unwrapped it. Frowning in mild curiosity at the unprepossessing little book, he held his fingers over it for a few moments - testing the magic, Moody knew, in a way Moody himself would never be able to - and then, quite decisively, flipping the cover open to reveal the first page.

Moody, watching him, felt a little thrill at the way his blue eyes widened and his wrinkled skin whitened as he read the smudged name on the first page: _T.M. Riddle._

"What," Dumbledore asked quietly, "did Mr. Snape say about this diary?"

"That Voldemort -"

Moody froze; the diary had twitched. Dumbledore released it at once, as though burned.

"Yes?" he prompted quietly.

Moody didn't take his eyes off the diary. "That he had given it to Malfoy for safekeeping. Granger said it could possess anyone stupid enough to write in it, and that it needed to be destroyed - with basilisk fangs."

Dumbledore's face, still white, almost gleamed with a sudden surge of excitement, though his expression never actually wavered. "Basilisk fangs?"

"From the Chamber of Secrets," Moody said. "There's a basilisk in there, apparently."

Dumbledore stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. "A basilisk?" he murmured, almost to himself. "A _basilisk_. Of course…"

For several seconds, Dumbledore remained motionless, lost in thought. Then he asked, "But how does she know?"

Moody shrugged. "Didn't say. Snape seemed to take her at her word, from what Dobby said."

"What else did Dobby say?"

Moody grinned slightly. "That they're planning to break into Hogwarts to find the diadem of Ravenclaw. Apparently that's got to be destroyed, too."

Dumbledore, to Moody's complete delight, looked flabbergasted.

"The diadem is here?" he asked sharply, recovering. "At Hogwarts?"

"Yep."

"Where?"

Moody shrugged again. "Let them break in, and you'll probably find out."

Dumbledore looked hesitant to embrace that plan. In fact, he looked slightly miffed.

Catching sight of Moody's expression, he said, "I believe you are enjoying yourself, Alastor."

Moody didn't try to hide his grin. "Not at all, Headmaster."

"This is extremely serious," Dumbledore chastised him. "If I am interpreting their actions correctly - and I believe I am - then the fate of the war may be at stake."

That was serious. Moody tried to straighten out his grin, and only half-succeeded. "And how do you interpret their actions?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "I would prefer to keep that to myself, for now."

Moody fixed him with a look. "You'd better hope Snape and Granger don't take that attitude with _you_ , Dumbledore."

Dumbledore frowned, as if that eventuality had not occurred to him. Moody rolled his eyes, but let it go. "They're trying to find a way around the marriage law, too. Asked Frank and Alice to have a look at their rings one of these days."

Dumbledore's frown deepened, although it was tinged with sadness now. "I have examined the rings. The Ministry's charms are, regrettably, very well designed. I would be very interested to know who was responsible for their construction."

"You and me both," Moody growled. "They were ready awfully quick after the law went into effect. The day after, if I'm not mistaken."

"You are not." Dumbledore's expression wavered between gravity and anger. "I am certain the Death Eaters had a hand in that, but as their influence at the Ministry was sufficient to get the law passed, I suspect it will be sufficient to override any misgivings about the rings' origin."

Moody nodded; he'd concluded the same. "Still, I'm curious to see what Granger will say."

Dumbledore arched a brow. "I am beginning to think you enjoy the idea of supplanting me, Alastor."

Moody grinned. "Got to consider all possibilities."

"Is she truly so brilliant?"

Moody shrugged. "Hard to say, at this point. Her spellwork's impressive as hell, and that little manipulation she pulled with Crouch was masterful. And she's still young." He eyed Dumbledore speculatively. "Might be interesting to compare the two of you at that age."

Dumbledore's expression remained carefully calm. "I am certain the comparison would be in her favor."

"Would it? You were publishing Transfiguration articles while you were still a student, weren't you?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I do not deny I was brilliant, intellectually. But brilliance is not a cure for foolishness; indeed, it is often fuel for it."

"Foolishness, eh?" Moody eyed him analytically. He'd known Dumbledore a long while, and had plenty of suspicions about his flaws and fears. "I bet you thought about ruling the world."

Dumbledore's eyes glinted for a moment, their usual twinkle replaced by something much sharper and harder. "That was, in fact, my ambition."

Moody nodded, not particularly bothered. He'd seen the worst in hundreds, if not thousands of people, and he knew well that wizards, especially great wizards, fell to the temptation of power very easily. The fact was, wizards _could_ rule the world. And had, for millennia. The International Statute of Secrecy had crushed the potential of all wizards, had stunted them, had made them static. The Muggle world advanced while wizards languished, learning spells to sweep floors and wash dishes rather than raise mountains and drown deserts.

It was easy for great wizards, forbidden from plumbing the depths of their power, to get resentful.

It was much more difficult for them to resist that resentment, and it was Dumbledore's resistance that made him truly great, and truly good, no matter how many little crimes of arrogance and prejudice he committed along the way. Though most people forgot it, Dumbledore was human, and greatly imperfect. Moody prided himself on his ability to point out those imperfections. Someone needed to keep Dumbledore humble.

"You'd have made a terrible Supreme Ruler," Moody commented.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I concluded that, as well. Although too late… Much later than I should have."

Moody waited, to give him the opportunity to continue. He was not surprised when Dumbledore didn't. Their conversation had already been more revealing than Dumbledore usually allowed. Something about the night's revelations had rattled him.

Moody was content to back off, despite the powerful urge not to.

"Perhaps Miss Granger will be wiser," Dumbledore said finally, offering him a truer smile. "It is to be hoped, at least, that she will not entertain the foolish notions I -"

"Headmaster," one of the portraits interrupted suddenly, sliding into his frame. "Headmaster, intruders in the castle!"

Moody grinned. Dumbledore twinkled.

"Let us see what our guests have to say."


	22. Chapter 22

22

Hogwarts towered in black majesty against the blacker sky, its windows glinting with scattered golden light while behind it the full moon stretched a silver gloss across the clouds. Somewhere, Severus knew, Lupin was locked up and howling, probably accompanied by his illegal Animagi friends (minus, perhaps, Pettigrew). The Shrieking Shack, however, was silent, and it was through the battered boards blocking its windows that Severus surveyed the distant castle now.

"If only we had the Invisibility Cloak!" Granger muttered, biting her lip as she peered through the boards beside him.

"The Disillusionment Charm will be enough," Severus countered. "Although I still think Dobby -"

"No, no, I'm sure Dumbledore will be watching for that after we set the wards at the Evans'. You're right, of course, the Disillusionment Charm will have to do."

She had the grace not to point out that his Disillusionment Charm, though adequate at first glance, did not stand up to thorough scrutiny. Then again, her own charm was no better; in fact, Severus was slightly relieved to find that there was at least one branch of magic in which she was not his obvious superior (aside from potions, of course).

"It's because I don't _want_ to be invisible, I expect," she had mused while they were comparing their spells. Her Disillusionment Charm had noticeably distorted the air around her, rendering her easily visible in their little tent. "And neither do you."

Severus hadn't argued with her. Though the ability to become invisible at will was one he greatly desired, magic tended to bend itself more to character than convenience, and Granger was entirely right: he did _not_ want to be invisible.

Interestingly, they had fared even worse when they had tried to cast the charm on each other. Severus couldn't imagine why; he knew he was nothing to look at, and though Granger had a pleasantly warm (and occasionally fiery) aspect, he didn't feel any particular aversion to her becoming invisible, unless it was only that he didn't like the sensation that he was embarking on this foolhardy endeavor alone.

Stepping away from the boards and the narrow view of the castle they were about to break into, Severus looked at Granger and ordered, "Cast the charm."

Granger shut her eyes in concentration, tapped her wand against the top of her skull, and trickled out of view. In the shadows of the Shrieking Shack, she nearly was invisible.

"Acceptable," he told her, which produced a little huff of dissatisfaction (he supposed she would have preferred "Outstanding," but she had hardly earned it). He cast the spell on himself, and waited silently for her appraisal.

"That's quite good," she said. Her generosity, after his remark, surprised him, especially when he knew he had done no better than she had.

"Acceptable, I suppose," he said, glancing at his blurry hands and frowning.

"Shall we?"

He nodded, remembered she couldn't see him, and opened the trapdoor instead. He intended to go first, but she was already shuffling down the steps ahead of him. Severus, descending into the horribly small space after her, glanced up to reach for the trapdoor and froze, an odd, strangled sense of familiarity wrapping around him.

This was where he had been when Potter had found him. Potter claimed it hadn't been close, but the trapdoor had been fully open, Severus's arm stretched out along it, a tempting strip of meat. He had been close enough to smell the beast's breath. He could still see the claw marks the creature had gouged into the floor as it lunged for him.

He wasn't afraid now, but he felt tense, and angry. Granger had slept half the day, exhausted after erecting the elf wards, but Severus had lain awake, trying (and failing) not to picture Lily in Potter's arms, and remembering over and over again that little amused quirk of her mouth when he'd been dangling Severus upside down by the lake. What had Potter said to make her forgive him this time? What apology could he have offered that was so much better than that Severus had given her at the end of their fifth year?

Shutting the trapdoor, Severus descended to the tunnel floor. If Granger had noticed the delay, she chose not to mention it. Instead, he heard her feet scuffing the dirt as she moved away from him, and, listening carefully to make sure he didn't get close enough to bump into her, Severus followed.

The scent of the tunnel was as sharp and cold as the last time he had been here, a rough, crushing memory that made him stumble in the dark. He had been shaking, his fingernails digging into the tunnel walls as he tried not to collapse in front of Potter - Potter, who had crouched there with both of their wands lit up in his hands, the look in his eyes fading quickly from relief to bitter, malicious amusement as he watched Severus tremble.

"What did you think was going to happen, Snape?" he had mocked. "I know you already suspected the truth. You suspected what he was. So why come here? Were you planning to hurt him, or are you really just that stupid, that you thought you could come look at him like he's an animal in a zoo?"

"I thought he'd be chained up! Any sane person -"

"Any sane person would have stayed away! But not you, Snivellus, you just _had_ to see, had to come take a look at the dangerous Dark creature - is that it? You just wanted a chance to learn more Dark Arts?"

"As if I could learn anything from that filthy monst-"

Then Potter's wand had been at his throat. "Call him a monster, Snape, and I'll throw you right back in there."

Severus had looked him straight in the eyes and spat, "He's a monster."

Potter had hesitated, and Severus had wondered, then, whether Potter really would throw him back to Lupin, whether he, like Black, would be willing to use their precious werewolf as the instrument of his demise.

Then Potter had sneered and said, "So that's it? You have a death wish? Should've known, after all the times you've practically begged us to curse you -"

Severus had lunged at him, then, though he had been wandless and shaking. There had been a flash of red light, and he had woken up in the hospital wing, with Dumbledore telling him how lucky he was Potter was such a perfect little hero, and how it was his own fault his worthless life had been in danger.

Severus was shaking again now, but in anger. He could feel the Disillusionment Charm starting to dissolve, his anger burning through it like sun through mist, but though he tried he could not calm down.

All those years he had suffered his wretched Muggle father, he had only survived by wishing and longing for this place. And they had ruined it for him - Potter, Black, Lupin, Dumbledore, bloody Peter Pettigrew and all the rest of the amused and indifferent spectators to his teenaged torment. How he hated them all.

Ahead of him, Granger climbed out of the tunnel, her shoes scuffing on the Whomping Willow's roots. Severus followed, gazing up at Hogwarts with his jaw clenched.

"Oh!" Granger gasped. "Your charm!"

Severus tapped his wand to his skull without answering. He could tell it hadn't worked; the expected trickle of magic felt more like a small puddle on the top of his head. He swore under his breath.

"Let me -"

"I'll get it!" he snarled.

She glanced around quickly, obviously trying to make sure no one was nearby to hear him. The cold, thin mantle of snow glittered brightly beneath the moon, untouched.

Still, Severus supposed he should lower his voice.

"Give me a moment," he said, much more calmly.

Granger nodded, not questioning his temper. No doubt she had already determined its source. She had been very hesitant to even suggest the Shrieking Shack, but Severus agreed it was the best point of entry to the school.

Still, he hated it, and he was embarrassed that she knew he was having trouble calming down.

Into the stillness between them, she said suddenly, "I don't like it there, either."

"Oh?" he answered coldly. "And why is that?"

"Sirius Black lured us there during our third year, after he escaped from Azkaban," she said quietly.

He understood without her having to explain that "we" included her two idiot friends.

"We still thought he was a murderer, then," she continued. "He broke Ron's leg, and I was sure he was going to kill us all. And then Lupin showed up, and I realized he was on Black's side…" She shuddered, her Disillusioned frame quivering against the snow. "And then _you_ showed up, and at first it was such a relief, but you were - different - you were frightening. You wouldn't listen. They kept trying to explain about Pettigrew, but you wanted to hand them over to the Dementors - we didn't know who to believe, or what to do, and we ended up Stunning you -"

"You Stunned me?" he asked, outraged.

From the way her outline shifted, he thought she had buried her face in her hands. "It was such an awful mistake," she whispered. "You have no idea how much I regretted it - and not just because you were a teacher -"

He snorted. He had gathered over the course of their conversations that she was an awful swot, or at least that she had been in school.

"But you were all so - I'm sorry - but you were all so _unstable._ You, Black, Lupin - and Ron was panicking about his rat -"

"His rat?"

"Pettigrew, he was Ron's pet for years -"

"He was his _pet?_ " Severus asked, thoroughly disturbed.

"Yes, he slept in his bed and everything -"

Severus shuddered.

"Meanwhile, it turned out my cat had been helping Black - if you can imagine - and Harry was so upset about his parents - but, oh, we shouldn't have Stunned you! And it was the full moon, too, and Lupin hadn't taken his potion -"

"His potion?"

"The Wolfsbane. It helps with the transformations, helps the werewolf stay in control. It hasn't been invented yet here. But you were brewing it for him, because he was a teacher -"

"Dumbledore made him a _teacher?_ "

Granger seemed to realize she was not helping calm him down. "Er -"

"That -" Severus was at no loss for insults, but he could not think of one to capture the enormity of Dumbledore's arrogance. What had Granger called him? A bastard? Severus needed a word of approximately ten times that magnitude.

"It's probably better not to insult him here," Granger said. "His phoenix can hear when people are loyal to him, you know. He might know when people are - er - disloyal, too."

Severus snorted. "Disloyal? Try disgusted."

"Yes, well, I don't disagree," she said primly. "But now's probably not the best time."

He gave her blurry outline an incredulous look. "And you thought telling me this now would help?"

"Well, I was actually building up to the more sobering fact that you - er - almost died here during the war." She shifted again, the snow crunching beneath her feet. "So we really ought to -"

"I almost died there? How?"

"Nagini," she said simply.

"The snake?"

"Yes. Voldemort set her on you. We found you like that, and you gave Harry your memories, and that was what ended the war - because you showed him what Dumbledore had told you, about him being -"

"- a Horcrux," Severus finished, scowling. Dumbledore's manipulations knew no bounds.

"You did save us all," Granger said.

" _He_ saved you," Severus countered. "We're not the same person."

"Yes, of course," she said. "I didn't mean -"

"I'm going to try the charm again," he interrupted her.

She fell silent, watching him as he tapped his head again. To his relief, it worked.

"Shall we?"

She cast charms to hide their footprints as they walked, and he cast muffling charms to stifle them. It wasn't long before he was shivering and out of breath, his thin robes and weak frame still tattered from Azkaban. They approached not the castle but the broom sheds, having agreed that the castle doors would probably be locked and that flying to a classroom window and breaking in was probably a safer bet.

And they would be needing the brooms later.

Severus knew as little about broomsticks as was possible after attending Hogwarts for seven years, but Granger had exasperatedly told him that after being friends with Potter and Weasley for that long, it had been impossible not to gain some idea of which broomsticks were decent.

The school brooms were, as expected, terrible. Granger picked what she thought looked like the two least likely to kill them, and they reluctantly mounted, neither of them entirely comfortable with flying even on the best of brooms.

They were lucky it was a windless night. Severus's broom seemed determined to fly toward the lake no matter how forcefully he pointed it at the castle, and it was only when he pointed it at the forest that it chose to head toward Hogwarts. Granger's headed straight for the castle, but with so many drops and twitches she was nearly in tears by the time they reached the castle wall.

The girl was trembling too much to let go of the broom and lift her wand, so Severus, trying hard to keep his broom from drifting back toward the lake, pointed his wand at the window and incanted a simple _Alohomora._

The window popped open. Severus felt disappointed and faintly disgusted. Was this really all it took to break into the impregnable Hogwarts?

Still trembling, the girl flew into the classroom and dropped off the broom to collapse on the floor. Severus needed a few tries to succeed in getting his broom to make it through the window, but once he was inside managed to dismount without crumpling into in a heap.

Shutting the window, Severus helped Granger up and sat her down at a desk before glancing outside in the corridor. There was no one in sight.

When he returned to Granger's side, she was stuffing the broomsticks roughly into her beaded bag, scowling at them as if she would have liked to snap their twigs off one by one. She was still pale when she stood up and led him out into the corridor.

They had flown directly to the seventh floor, where, Granger told him, the Room of Requirement was to be found. It was only seconds before they were standing in front of a blank stretch of wall opposite a hideous tapestry of a troll refusing to learn ballet.

Though Granger was still Disillusioned, Severus could hear her decisive footsteps as she strode back and forth in front of the wall three times.

As her steps came to a halt, a door appeared.

She opened it cautiously, almost as if she expected the Fiendfyre of her previous visit to come roaring out. Of course, no such thing happened. Severus, looking over her shoulder, saw only a vast, shadowy space, crammed to the ceiling with junk.

How fascinating.

They slipped inside, shutting the door carefully behind them and lighting their wands.

"Remember," Granger whispered, "don't touch it."

"Granger, touching a piece of the Dark Lord's soul is the last thing I want to do."

"Hermione," she corrected, her wandlight swelling into the room as her Disillusioned form stepped away from him. Severus frowned after her for a moment, then turned to the endless junk in front of him.

Most of it was rubbish. Moldy books, withered husks of plants, a few unusable strips of boomslang skin, a dead pixie in a jar - Severus couldn't imagine why the students involved hadn't simply dumped it all in one of the Vanishing bins found in every classroom. Still, Severus could see a few distant bookshelves that might actually be promising, and were those jars of -

"Focus!" Granger - Hermione - hissed at him.

Severus realized he had been standing in place for several seconds, and flushed. Tearing his gaze away from what might, in fact, have been a few hundred Galleons' worth of potions ingredients, Severus began scanning the dusty rubbish mounds for the tainted diadem. Why the Dark Lord had assumed this was an appropriate home for his shattered soul was beyond him.

 _Especially_ when he had had access to the Chamber of Secrets itself.

Severus wandered deeper into the room, surveying the companions of the Dark Lord's ruined soul: urine-stained sheets, a broken toilet plunger, a mattress with a large brown spot that was probably menstrual blood, a heap of broomsticks in even worse condition than the school brooms, and -

A mirror.

Severus bit back a startled shout, wheeling around with his wand raised. Hermione was halfway across the enormous room (picking through books, the hypocrite), but there was no one else in sight.

And yet -

Severus could see, in the dusty, half-covered mirror, the shadowy form of another person.

 _Homenum Revelio,_ he thought, sweeping his wand through the air.

Hermione Granger, and no one else.

Swallowing back his alarm, Severus approached the mirror cautiously, wand still raised. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the old, worn covering aside, baring the mirror.

One of the figures, he saw at once, was himself.

Wasn't it?

The figure in the mirror was a man, not a boy, somewhere between his own age and that of the older self he had met in the other world. He was neither as spindly as his current self, nor as severe as his older self, but rather elegant, composed, and yet clearly relaxed.

And his face was - different. Wasn't it? It was his face - the hooked nose, the sharp brow, the thin mouth, the jutting cheekbones - and yet there was something different about. It was several seconds before Severus was able to define it.

The aversion, the dissatisfaction, the bitterness he usually felt when looking at his own reflection was gone.

This face was his face, but it was not an ugly face. He couldn't tell if the difference was in the face itself, or in himself, in the way he saw it. Somehow, the face was - just his face. A face he accepted.

The mirror-Severus's hair, he had to acknowledge, was perfectly clean.

And the figure beside him was -

A woman. That was all he could see. She was standing in shadow, but as Severus watched, his mirror self turned to look at her, and Severus knew that the look was one they shared, of warmth and trust and a soft, quiet happiness that he knew he himself had never felt before.

But who was she?

He drew closer to the mirror, all thought of the diadem, of anything, forgotten. Even standing inches away, Severus could still not see her.

"Severus?"

He heard Hermione's voice, but could not wrench himself away from the reflection. He heard her footsteps approach, then stop. With an enormous effort, he looked at her where she stood, just out of the mirror's range. Her Disillusionment Charm had faded enough that he could see that she was staring at it with a strange wariness.

"Can you see them?" he asked quietly.

Her gaze slid from the mirror to his face, more reserved than he had ever seen it.

"No," she said. "Only you can see - what you see."

He heard something in her tone that made him ask, "You know what this is?"

She nodded. "It's the Mirror of Erised. It shows you your deepest desire."

Severus looked back at the reflection that was not a reflection, drinking in again his altered face, his happy eyes, his loving smile. And the woman -

Still in shadow.

But _not_ Lily.

He was certain of that. If Lily had been his deepest desire, he would have been able to see her. He tried to imagine it, her beautiful face smiling at him the way he was smiling at her, and couldn't.

Something inside him shifted, breathtakingly.

Severus would not have said that he knew everything there was to know about himself, but he did know some things. He knew that though he wanted to be brilliant and skilled and respected and powerful, he wanted none of those things as much as he wanted to be loved. He would never have admitted it out loud; the idea that he, Severus Snape, dark and cold as he was, wanted nothing more than to fall in love and live happily ever after would have made most people fall over themselves in laughter. Even he felt a fair amount of contempt at the thought most of the time. There was so much more to life - so much to achieve and to become, so much greatness to reach for, so much knowledge to gain - and the idea of sacrificing it all for a happiness that probably wouldn't last was nauseating.

Yet he wanted it. Not the domestic bliss Lily dreamed of, but love, yes, love, a fierce and tender passion that he could both feel in himself and somehow, impossibly, evoke in another person -

In Lily, he had thought -

But here she stood, not Lily, just - someone.

He just wanted _someone._

He had assumed Lily was the only one, that there could never be another. But this mirror of his desire had reached into him and seen -

Someone.

Lily was not the only one. She was not the one.

He shivered.

He heard Hermione's shoes scuff the floor, looked up to see her wandlight moving away again.

"You don't want to look?" he asked hoarsely.

She turned back to him, her Disillusionment still faltering, as his had done earlier. She looked almost afraid.

"No," she said.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to," she said, hugging herself.

Severus couldn't understand it. He would have spent the rest of the night looking into the mirror if he could have.

"Have you looked in it before?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Harry did… He said it was hard to leave…"

Yet something told him that that was not why she didn't want to look.

"I'm going to find the diadem," she said. "I - I really think you should help."

Severus nodded, though he cast one last look at the mirror first.

There he stood, happy and loved and whole.


	23. Chapter 23

23

Hermione had to fight the urge to run from the Mirror of Erised. She couldn't have said exactly what it was that frightened her; it was like the arch in the Ministry, the one that had whispered to Harry from a beyond she couldn't hear. She knew the mirror had shown Harry his parents, and that it had changed something in him, irrevocably. There was a thirst in him to be with them, and she knew that sometimes it was also a thirst for death. It was the same thirst that had sent him running headfirst into this world, the same thirst that had stranded her here.

Hermione knew, of course, that the mirror would show her nothing of the sort. Harry and Ron hadn't been wrong when they'd pointed out she hadn't lost anyone in the war. She had lost pieces of herself, but her parents were alive, her best friends were alive, and Crookshanks was alive. She was alive.

And even if she had lost someone - if Harry had really died in the forest - she had a hard time believing she would ever have seen him in the mirror. Death was death. It was final. There was no reaching beyond. The desire to do so would not have occurred to her.

No. She would not have seen death.

So what then?

Back in her first year, after Harry had told her about the mirror, she had lain awake in bed for hours thinking about it. Would she have seen herself as Head Girl, the most intelligent student Hogwarts had ever seen, surrounded by academic trophies and accolades, by the approving smiles of her teachers and parents and the admiring awe of her friends? Or would she have seen herself older, a brilliant, successful witch, the founder of a dozen movements to better the world? Or would she have been more powerful still, the Minister for Magic, the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot? Would she have led the International Confederation of Wizards, and finally persuaded wizards to _do_ something about all the problems in the world?

At the time, she hadn't been able to decide. The more she had thought about it, the more her ambition seemed to grow, until her head was overflowing with the desire for greatness and brilliance and recognition.

But the mirror, she had understood even then, did not show the head's desires. It showed the heart's. Hermione had wriggled away from the thought then, uncomfortable with it despite, or perhaps because of, the new feelings of friendship and happiness and belonging she had begun to feel with Harry and Ron since the troll incident. Hermione liked to think she was a person who thought with her head, logically, rationally, carefully. The relentless onslaught of emotion during her adolescent years had seriously challenged that view of herself, but though she had come to accept (and, in most cases, understand) the full range of complex emotions she was drowning in, there were still times when she didn't like to look too closely at her own heart. It was, contrary to her most determined efforts, a very tender thing.

Hermione wasn't ashamed of her tenderness, but it hurt to be too close to it sometimes.

She knew the Mirror of Erised wouldn't show her any academic accomplishments now. It wouldn't show her ruling the world with justice and brilliance. It wouldn't even show her winning the war. She could feel, desperately, the things she wanted most, maybe not in life, but certainly in this moment.

Her parents, snuggled up against each other with books in their laps. Her mother's softly graying hair, her father's tired smile, their sock-covered feet rubbing against each other as they read. Crookshanks would have been there, too, large dilated eyes focused unwaveringly on their moving feet. Maybe Harry and Ron would have been playing wizard's chess on the floor, while Neville and Snape discussed the finer points of pruning in a corner. Even Fiend, so inseparable from Snape these days, might have been preparing to pounce on Crookshanks's tail just as he was preparing to pounce on her parents' feet.

And Hermione would have been there, not part of any pair, just there, reading and listening and feeling home.

She felt painfully sad just thinking about it. She was certain she would cry if she actually had to see it. All her desires for a better world, for defeating Voldemort and conquering the Ministry and all the rest, all would fade away if she could just be home again.

She wouldn't look. She needed to be strong, to protect Harry's parents and godfather and Dobby and Severus. This world was real, too, and she couldn't be selfish now.

So she put her desires away, as she had done before, after she had sent her parents to Australia during the war. She knew how to do this. She knew how to focus. She knew how to win a war.

She saw the diadem in the same moment, just as she pushed all her longing away. It glinted at her temptingly. _You know how to do this? You know so little - I can help you know so much more!_

Hermione snorted. She had never needed anyone to help her gain knowledge.

 _Oh, but aren't there things you would like to know? Questions to be answered, secrets to be unlocked…_

Hermione stepped closer, frowning at it. Of course, she had questions. Where was the locket? Where was the cup? Where was Voldemort? Could she really do this?

 _I can help you…_

Hermione, quite without meaning to, found herself reaching for it, reaching out -

A cool hand locked around her wrist. She jerked back with a start, staring up into Severus's black eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, thoroughly embarrassed.

He arched a mocking eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were so fond of tiaras."

Hermione scowled at him. He smirked. Whatever strangeness had come over him when he looked into the Mirror of Erised (and she had a fairly good idea of what he must have seen) seemed to be gone. His face was clear of that eerie wonder, his gaze sharp and determined.

From a pocket, he withdrew the box they had prepared for this moment. He had warded it carefully against Legilimentic attack; they had both agreed that would probably be the most effective ward against possession. Lifting the diadem with a simple Hovering Charm, Severus lowered it into the box and locked it in.

Well. That was that.

Stowing the box away in his robes, Severus cast a sweeping glance around the room. "Anything else we need?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "I found another copy of _The Enigma of Ekrizdis,_ if you want it. I know yours burned up…"

He gave her a curious, teasing look. "A Dark Arts book? How very kind of you."

There was something different about him. She couldn't define it. He was - not _happy,_ exactly - but in high spirits of some kind. There was a new fluidity to the way he moved as they approached the exit, something almost relaxed, or relieved.

Hermione felt baffled. She didn't see how watching himself snog Lily Evans could have had quite this effect. If anything, she had expected him to be devastated.

He was so much more difficult to understand than Harry and Ron. Not that their emotions had been shallow; Harry's, especially, had always been intense and varied and sometimes even strange, and Ron had managed to surprise her every once in a while. But Severus was another type of creature altogether, dark and sharp and always on edge, the edge of something she didn't understand.

His older self, her Snape, had been like that, too, but never so openly. He had been a study in self-control, in layers and layers of shields. There had been none of this raw, ragged desperation.

At least not on the outside.

But this Severus did not seem raw or ragged now. Was this the first of his layers, the first of all the shields to come? This didn't feel like self-control. It felt like…

She didn't know what it felt like.

He was so _confusing._

Hermione wrenched her thoughts away from it. They were at the door again, and they had a job to do.

"Recast the Disillusionment Charm," Severus ordered, doing the same himself.

She obeyed, frowning in dissatisfaction at the lingering outline of her body. It was frustrating that she had not yet managed to master this, one of the most useful spells there was. She had grown so used to Harry's Cloak that she had never bothered to explore other forms of invisibility. Foolish, foolish.

"It'll do," Severus said, his own charm just as inadequate as hers.

They snuck out into the corridor again, creeping past sleeping portraits as they made their way down staircases and through tapestries toward the library. It was the middle of the night, the corridors lit only by moonlight, yet Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Evidently Severus felt it, too, for he turned frequently to glance behind them, no longer relaxed or relieved but tense again, his movements losing all their momentary fluidity.

No one stopped them from approaching the library, however. Hermione led Severus straight to the corner where Madam Pince kept all the old _Daily Prophets,_ and he set to work at once on the wards, breaking them within about ten seconds. Hermione smiled.

They sat down on the floor without speaking, piling _Prophets_ from the last several months in front of them. There was no need to speak; they both knew what they were looking for, and, by the light of a jar of Hermione's blue flames, they set to work.

Hermione had spent enough time over the years scanning obituaries to have developed some resistance to the impact of the stories, though every once in a while one would hit her hard and fill her eyes with tears. Severus, if he was disturbed by anything he read, didn't show it, racing through the _Prophets_ with a ruthless efficiency she couldn't quite match. It was so hard not to read the entire articles, especially when she considered that this was not only news from the past, but news from an _alternate reality…_

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed when Severus whispered, with interest, "This one choked on a balloon."

Hermione looked up, blinking in the blue light. "At St. Mungo's?"

He shot her a look. "It would hardly be worth mentioning, otherwise."

Hermione could easily imagine Harry and Ron mentioning it regardless, but this was Severus. "What happened?"

"' _Eighty-eight-year-old Allan Bones died yesterday evening after inhaling a Get-Well balloon that had been left at his bedside by a visitor. Mr. Bones was admitted to St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward two days ago after he began exhibiting odd behavior, according to an acquaintance of the family. Although it is not known which of Mr. Bones's visitors left the balloon, Aurors believe the death was an accident and are not investigating further. Mr. Bones is survived by his son, Mr. John Bones, as well as his three grandchildren, Edgar, Amelia, and Stuart.'_ This was about a year ago," Severus added, glancing at the date.

"It has to be her," Hermione whispered. "Oh, that's awful. But Voldemort's going to kill John and his wife, and the Death Eaters kill Edgar and his fam-"

"Shh!" Severus hissed suddenly, waving his wand at the blue flames to extinguish them. In the sudden darkness, Hermione could only hear her heart beating, but she knew Severus must have heard something else. She felt more than heard him move in front of her, and didn't flinch when his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her up. They darted, as quietly as possible, along the shelves of books, rounding one corner, then another, until the door was right ahead of them -

White light suddenly flashed over them. A voice asked sharply, "Who's there?"

Severus lashed out immediately with a Stunning Charm, only for it to strike a Shield Charm and ricochet back at Hermione, who only just managed to duck.

"Stop, stop!" she cried, afraid it was a student, only to be hit full in the chest with a _Petrificus Totalus._

"Show yourself," the strange voice said, no longer directly in front of them but on the other side of the shelves to Hermione's left. "Or I'll hex her."

Hermione was between Severus and the stranger, making it impossible for either of them to hit anyone but her. Severus didn't hesitate. He pointed his wand directly at her.

She felt the silent _Finite Incantatem_ strike her, and, unpetrified, dropped straight to the floor.

Light exploded above her, from both directions. Severus flew back and struck the bookcase; Hermione saw the stranger's feet stumble backward as well. Taking aim between the books on the bottom shelf, she hit him with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and watched in satisfaction as he dropped.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " she whispered, and his wand flew away.

Severus was already on his feet again, rounding the corner of the shelves with his wand pointed at the wobbling heap of a boy on the other side. Hermione tried to follow, but Severus gestured for her to stay where she was, hidden behind the shelves and her mediocre Disillusionment Charm.

" _Finite,_ " Severus muttered, his wand pointed at the stranger's legs, then, " _Lumos._ "

Through the shelves, Hermione saw the boy, panting, glare up at Severus, dark hair framing his flushed face. Hermione started, recognizing him immediately. Severus lowered his wand slightly. "Regulus."

Regulus squinted at him. Severus, after a moment's hesitation, removed his Disillusionment Charm.

"Severus," Regulus answered warily.

Severus nodded for him to stand up, then, without warning, flicked his wand at the boy. Regulus flinched, then gripped his arm as his left sleeve rolled itself up, but too late. They had seen his Dark Mark.

Regulus glared at Severus. "I heard what you did."

"What did you hear?"

Regulus eyed him nervously, but defiantly. "That you betrayed Lucius."

"Lucius burned down my house and abducted me."

"You betrayed the Dark Lord!"

"And how are you enjoying your service to the Dark Lord? Has it fulfilled all your expectations? Has it brought you honor and glory?"

Regulus flushed, but Hermione could see he didn't know about the locket yet; he hadn't turned.

"The Dark Lord will make wizards great again," Regulus said proudly.

Severus's dark eyes bored into the younger wizard's, but Hermione couldn't tell what he was thinking. Only a few months ago he had shared those ideals, hadn't he? Or did he still? He had turned away from the Death Eaters because he had realized they would hurt Lily, not because he had stopped believing in their cause. Did he still believe wizards were better than Muggles? That wizards should rule Muggles?

"The Dark Lord," Severus said quietly, "is concerned with no one's greatness but his own. He is a selfish, arrogant, hideous monster, as you will come to know soon enough."

Hermione almost shivered. She knew as well as Severus did that Voldemort would likely pick this memory out of Regulus's mind. Severus was already a target. Was taunting Voldemort really the best idea?

"You'll pay for that," Regulus said breathlessly. "No one insults the Dark Lord."

"No? Has no one ever told him he's a worthless coward -"

Regulus hissed.

"- or a filthy hypocrite -"

"Shut up!"

"- or an unloved, unwanted, unbelievably pathetic half-blood bastard?"

"Shut up, Snape!"

" _Voldemort,_ " Severus murmured, obviously savoring Regulus's resulting flinch, "is a pitiful waste of a human being. Do tell him so, from me."

"Are you mad?" Regulus gasped.

"I am his enemy," Severus said. "Remember that."

Hermione doubted Regulus would ever forget it, after that little speech. She tried to remember how to shut her mouth, with only marginally more success than Regulus, who was still gaping in horrified awe and outrage.

The creak of the library door had them both straightening. Before either could do more than take a step back, Dumbledore had swept into the room.

Severus's reaction was immediate. He shrank backward, not in fear, Hermione thought, so much as in fury. Regulus, on the other hand, rushed forward, and it was only then that she noted the gleaming prefect badge on his robes.

"Intruders, Headmaster. Severus Snape and - and a girl." He frowned in Hermione's direction. Severus stepped directly in front of her.

"Thank you, Regulus. May I suggest you return to your dorm. Prefects are not expected to patrol past midnight, as I believe I have told you before."

"Of course, Headmaster." Regulus bent to the floor and retrieved his wand, then, with a final apprehensive glance back at Severus, disappeared down the corridor.

"Mr. Snape," Dumbledore greeted. "Perhaps you would join me in my office."

"I think not." Severus's voice was no longer the smooth murmur he had used on Regulus, but a harsh hiss.

"Perhaps you would prefer I summon the Aurors?"

Severus tensed, and Hermione was certain he was resisting the urge to hex Dumbledore. She didn't blame him.

Then he tilted his jaw defiantly and said, with an admirable return to his earlier smoothness, "Lead the way… _sir._ "

Hermione almost rolled her eyes, despite the circumstances. If she had a Galleon for the number of times her Snape had glared at Harry for taking precisely that tone with a professor!

Dumbledore did not glare. With the supreme confidence of the greatest wizard in the world, he turned on his heel and swept out of the library, obviously knowing that Severus was not nearly stupid enough to curse him from behind.

And obviously knowing, as well, that they had nowhere to go but after him.

Hermione lifted her wand to remove her already-faulty Disillusionment Charm, but Severus stopped her with a hissed, "Wait. Regulus might still be watching."

Hermione lowered her wand, silently conceding his point. The last thing she wanted was for Voldemort to see her face in Regulus's mind.

Slowly, reluctantly, they followed Dumbledore. He had stopped to wait for them at the end of the corridor, his scarlet robes gleaming in the newly kindled torchlight. Something about the sight of him there, all silver beard and twinkling eyes, softened Hermione's heart. No matter what had followed, all the scheming and misery he had inflicted on them, and the horror he had committed against Snape, he was still Dumbledore, and for six years she had associated him with safety and hope.

Six years during which he had manipulated and used her and her friends, but still. She wasn't sorry he was alive.

"Curly Wurly," Dumbledore stated serenely as they reached the gargoyle, which jumped obligingly aside. Severus's lip curled. Hermione rolled her eyes.

They revolved upward in silence, Severus and Hermione clutching their wands, Dumbledore standing in perfect tranquility. He held open the door to his office for them, ushering them into a room full of warmth and light and -

"Moody!" Hermione exclaimed, surprised.

"You said you weren't contacting the Aurors," Severus snapped.

"Easy there, boy," Moody growled, not bothering to rise from his chair to greet them. He had a tumbler of firewhiskey in one hand and a bottle of it propped up in his lap. "I'm on your side, remember?"

Severus looked unwilling to acknowledge that, but neither did he argue. His dark gaze had returned to Dumbledore, who glided over to his desk and sat down.

It was then that Hermione saw the diary.

She gasped. Severus, following her gaze, saw it, too.

"Recognize it?" Moody asked.

Hermione's heart was beating hard. Could it be possible that they would destroy not one, but two Horcruxes tonight?

But how had Moody and Dumbledore known? From everything Harry had told her, she didn't think Dumbledore had found out about the Horcruxes until after Harry had brought him the destroyed diary from the Chamber of Secrets. Had Moody recognized it and brought it to him? Or was this reality's Dumbledore much more aware of Voldemort's plans than her own reality's had been?

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said calmly, "we might introduce each other."

His wand was in his hand and sweeping through the air before they could even think to lift their own, and Hermione felt her pitiful Disillusionment Charm trickle away.

"That's better," Moody said. "Your Disillusionment Charm needs work, Granger."

She flushed. Dumbledore was eyeing her with great curiosity, even appraisal. "As I believe you are aware, I am Albus Dumbledore," he said.

Hermione offered him a slightly jerky nod. "Hermione Granger."

He smiled, but it was not one of the twinkling smiles she was used to. His eyes were still cool and calculating, though as penetrating as ever.

"Before I ask you why you have come to Hogwarts, please allow me to remind you that we are on the same side, despite what Mr. Snape may feel."

Hermione felt her flush deepen, but it was in anger this time. He wasn't even _looking_ at Severus. He was looking at her, as if she was - what? The leader? The boss? As if she was more important than Severus, certainly.

"You have proven yourself a worthy adversary to Lord Voldemort and a capable opponent to the Ministry of Magic, and I believe that together we could make great progress against both," Dumbledore continued.

Hermione tried to keep her expression calm, which wasn't easy. He was talking to her like - like she was a desired ally, or a potential recruit. Part of her wanted to preen with pleasure under his praise, but the rest of her reminded herself that she couldn't really take that much credit for being worthy and capable when she was technically cheating her way through. After all, it had been Harry and Dumbledore himself who had figured out what and where the Horcruxes were. Hermione was just applying their knowledge.

And, in any case, Severus had made it clear that he didn't want to join the Order of the Phoenix. She knew the Order would be a valuable asset, but Severus was - not a friend, perhaps, not yet, but she knew he was going to be. He was the younger self of a man she respected and cared for, his precious, less-damaged soul. She would choose him over Dumbledore in a heartbeat.

"So please understand," Dumbledore said, oblivious to her thoughts, "that it is in the interest of working together that I must ask you why you broke into this school."

Hermione didn't answer. Neither did Severus, whose jaw was clenched so tightly she could see the muscle twitch.

"What is it you were searching for in the library?"

Hermione hesitated. That was actually something they could tell him, and if Dumbledore took care of it, it was one more thing they could mark off their list. Hermione glanced at Severus, saw agreement in his eyes.

"We were looking for evidence that Healer Collins in the Spell Damage Ward of St. Mungo's has killed patients for Voldemort."

Dumbledore had obviously not been expecting that. Indeed, he looked startled.

"Healer Collins? None of our information has suggested that she was involved -"

"She murdered Allan Bones," Severus cut in sharply. "I daresay there were others, but your prefect interrupted us."

For the first time since they had entered the office, Dumbledore looked at Severus. He considered him for several seconds before asking, "Where did you gain this information?"

Severus sneered. "There was a _Daily Prophet_ article about it, if you had bothered to read -"

"I did read it," Dumbledore said coldly. "And though we suspected at the time that the Death Eaters were responsible, there was nothing to suggest a Healer was involved. Is this information you gained from the Death Eaters? From Lucius Malfoy, perhaps?"

Severus went livid. Hermione snapped, "This information came from _me,_ actually. A friend of mine realized that Collins had prevented his parents from recovering from serious mental damage. They were opposed to Voldemort, of course."

Dumbledore's gaze returned to her. "Who were his parents?"

"I can't disclose that information," Hermione replied. "But I know she's guilty."

Dumbledore and Moody exchanged a look. She was relieved that they were taking her seriously.

"We'll look into it," Moody agreed.

"It would be easier if -"

"No," Hermione stated flatly.

Dumbledore gave her his piercing stare, and she glared at him defiantly. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Moody smirking.

"And you should know," Hermione said, "that there's a Muggleborn man buried in -"

"- Grizedale Forest?" Moody finished. "We found the spot."

Hermione froze. "But how -"

"Haven't you read the _Evening Prophet?_ " Moody asked. "Maybe that one's not in the library yet."

Dumbledore slid a newspaper off his desk and offered it to her. Hermione and Severus both bent over it.

 _ **Aurors Uncover Grisly Graves in Grizedale Forest**_

 _A team of Aurors, responding to an anonymous tip, discovered the empty unmarked graves of twenty-one bodies early this morning in a little-visited area of Grizedale Forest. The identities and current whereabouts of the bodies are still unknown as of this evening; according to a source within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who wished to remain unnamed, Aurors are working around the clock to identify and locate the victims, but have made no progress, in part due to the attack in Lancaster this afternoon (for Lancaster's history of witch-hanging, see page 2), and in part due to the department's inability to adequately staff its office._

 _Aurors believe Death Eaters are involved in the mass grave, but refused to comment on the possibility that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be intending to use Inferi… (cont. page 3)_

Beneath the article, a large photograph of a smashed Muggle church preceded another headline: _Giant_ _Attack in Witch-Hanging Town Leaves Nine Muggles Dead._

Hermione looked at Severus in horror; his expression was grim. "Who gave you the anonymous tip?"

"Malfoy," Moody said.

Severus made a slight movement, almost a flinch. "You're in contact with him?"

Moody shrugged. "Every now and then. He'll do a lot for a meal these days." He grinned at Hermione. "Or a set of new robes."

Hermione might have smiled back, if the situation hadn't been so dire. "Twenty-one Inferi," she mused. "And those poor Muggles…"

"One of the giants was injured?" Severus asked, still reading the article.

"Yep. We're not sure if he survived, but he'll at least have a nasty concussion -"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Moody cut off, arching an eyebrow at him.

"The attack that happened today and the possibility of an Inferi attack in the future are all the more reason for us to cooperate," Dumbledore said. He rested his fingers on the cover of Riddle's diary. "You recognized this, Miss Granger, as soon as you entered the room. How?"

Hermione bit her lip. Why had she never mastered Occlumency? And how had Dumbledore known she would know? She knew it couldn't have been an accident he had left the diary on his desk before bringing them here.

And it was _such_ a coincidence that they had found those bodies just a day after…

After Dobby.

Hermione's mind fixed on the answer immediately, with the same certainty she felt whenever her logic led her to an unassailable conclusion. Dobby had passed the information to Dumbledore.

No - to Moody.

Because Moody had freed him.

Oh, he was on her side. He was no doubt grateful to her, even thought he was helping her. But he was spying on her, for Moody.

It took all of her self-control not to blurt out her realization in that moment.

 _Think,_ she commanded herself. They could use this, couldn't they? Somehow, they could find a way.

She didn't want to use Dobby. Dobby had been Harry's friend. She had told him herself that he was her friend.

But if she couldn't directly involve the Order of the Phoenix in what they were doing, then this was an indispensable opportunity. If they needed to pass information to the Order, to manipulate the Order, then Dobby could help them do it.

Hermione bit her lip harder. It went against the grain. It was _wrong,_ even.

But she had a war to win.

So she said nothing about Dobby. She focused on what Dumbledore had said.

 _How?_ She couldn't tell him how. But she could move the conversation forward.

"You know what the diary is," she said.

"I do," Dumbledore said, eyeing her sharply. "What I do not know is how _you_ discovered this -"

"That doesn't matter," she replied.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, obviously fighting for patience, "you can trust me -"

" _Trust_ you?" Severus spat. " _You?_ "

The room went very quiet. Hermione heard Fawkes shuffle from talon to talon on his perch.

Dumbledore, as Hermione had sometimes witnessed before, was radiating cold, but it was nothing to the icy fury spiking around Severus. His eyes were as black as Dumbledore's were bright.

"If there is something you would like to say, Mr. Snape, then I urge you to do so," Dumbledore said quietly. "If you are indeed opposed to Lord Voldemort, then we are on the same side -"

"Yes, I am _indeed_ opposed!" Severus hissed.

"Forgive me for doubting you. I believe you made your attitude toward Muggles perfectly clear while you were at this school."

Severus was trembling. Hermione had no idea what was going through his mind, no idea what he would say. He had been angry with Lily last night, but this was much, much more, much deeper.

"Did you never wonder why?" he asked suddenly.

Dumbledore arched a brow. "Why?"

"Why I despise Muggles."

Dumbledore looked surprised by the question.

Severus sneered. "Evidently not… Evidently it did not concern you that some of your students returned to school in less than ideal condition than others at the beginning of every year. So long as your precious, wealthy, pureblood Gryffindors remained in impeccable health -"

"You are mistaken if you believe that the health of _all_ my students is not of the utmost importance to -"

"That is a _lie._ " Severus's voice was an icy hiss. "If it were, you would never have brought a werewolf into the school -"

"Remus Lupin deserved an education -"

"Then you should have hired him a tutor!"

"He deserved friends, companionship -"

"AND WHAT DID I DESERVE?"

Dumbledore didn't flinch. "I understand," he said quietly, "that you feel you were not given the attention you needed -"

Hermione felt the spike in Severus's magic an instant before Dumbledore's inkwell shattered. Ink splattered them all, but no one more than Dumbledore, who calmly drew a handkerchief from his pocket.

"I didn't want your attention!" Severus snarled.

Dumbledore, quite deliberately, Hermione thought, didn't look at Severus as he cleaned the ink off his face and hands, quite as if he had forgotten Severus was in the room.

"I wanted somewhere I could be _safe,_ " Severus spat.

Dumbledore looked up, but Severus didn't see it. He had gripped Hermione's arm and dragged her toward the fireplace, waving his wand at the bowl of Floo powder on the mantel so that its contents swirled in a sparkling green cloud into the fire.

"Hey -" Moody started, as they stepped into the flames.

"That is hardly -" Dumbledore began, raising his wand.

" _Leaky -"_ Severus snarled.

 _Accio Diary!_ Hermione thought.

"- _Cauldron!_ "


	24. Chapter 24

24

The spinning whirl of green did nothing to dispel Severus's shaking. He gritted his teeth as they spun, holding fast to Granger until they came to a shuddering stop in the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't wait for her to clamber out of the fireplace; he pulled her along with him so forcefully that someone at a table behind him shouted, "Oy! Mate! Let 'er be!"

Then they were out on the street. He Disapparated them at once.

Squeezing black, and he couldn't breathe or see or hear, but he could _feel,_ a crushing horrible fury that had nowhere to go, nothing to devour but himself -

They popped back into existence at the edge of a cliff overlooking the moonlit sea, rocks towering in dark, mysterious silhouettes out of the waves while silver sea spray lunged for the sky. Severus felt like he was about to split apart, but he gritted his teeth against it, finally releasing the girl and striding away from her until he stood at the very edge, icy winter wind cutting into him until he could feel its cold all the way through his chest.

 _… the attention you needed…_

Severus hissed - then, unable to contain himself, let out a wretched sound that was halfway between a scream and a snarl. How _dare_ he? How dare he act like Severus was just some pathetic attention-seeking child, throwing a tantrum because he hadn't gotten his way? They had tried to _kill_ him, had tormented and terrorized him, had taunted him about his filthy, over-sized clothes and his unkempt appearance and his skinniness and his crooked nose -

\- the only clothes his parents could afford because his filthy Muggle father was out of work, the unkempt hair his mother ineptly, carelessly cut, the skinniness from the meals they didn't give him, the nose his father had broken more than once -

But evidently it was too much to want someone, _anyone,_ to have noticed that, too much to have wanted to be helped for it instead of hurt, too much to have wanted one place where he didn't have to feel afraid or weak or humiliated -

Severus shoved it all down in fury. He didn't _need_ the attention. He didn't _need_ anything. He would destroy Voldemort and anyone else who got in his way and then he would -

Leave. Disappear. Get the hell away from all of them, from everything. He never wanted to see these wretched people again. Not even Lily.

Severus spun around to face Granger, then froze, his rage momentarily overwhelmed by astonishment.

Her gaze was full of worry, sadness, anger - anger on his behalf, he knew that at once - and also a trace of some spiteful, savage little triumph.

She was holding the diary.

"You stole it?" he gasped.

She tried not to look smug, and failed miserably. "I Summoned it while we were in the fire."

A grin spread across his face, a malicious thing that he didn't bother to check. "Impressive, Granger."

She huffed. " _Hermione._ "

His grin didn't falter. "Hermione." He laughed suddenly. "Can you imagine his face?"

She started to grin, too. "I don't have to imagine it, I saw it. He was completely shocked."

"And outraged, I daresay."

"Very." Her teeth gleamed at him in the moonlight. "But honestly, if he didn't want us to steal it, he shouldn't have waved it under our noses like that."

Severus frowned. "That _was_ odd. How did he even…" His frown deepened. "Dob-"

"Don't!" She pressed a finger to her lips. "I don't want him to hear us."

Severus stared at her. Of course she had already figured it out. And if she was trying to keep it a secret, then that must mean… "You want to use him?"

She cringed. "I know it's awful -"

"No, it's brilliant!" he countered. He thought, even in the moonlight, that he could see her blush. "We can feed them information, manipulate them if we have to -"

"We'll have to be very, very careful. I don't think we mentioned the other Horcruxes in front of him. Do you remember…?"

Severus considered it, remembering the hours they had spent questioning Dobby. "No. We only discussed the diary and the diadem. And the Fiendfyre, but we didn't discuss coming here until after he was asleep." He grimaced. "Assuming he was asleep. The elf's more devious than I would have given him credit for."

"I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm," Hermione chided.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Severus replied. "I'm impressed. I only hope the _Muffliato_ spell actually works on elves."

"In case it didn't," Hermione said, "we should hurry."

Severus nodded. "Here. Put the diary in the box. And we need those brooms."

Hermione handed him the diary to stow away, then began digging through her bag in search of the pitiful school brooms. Scowling at them, she asked, "Which do you want?"

"I'll take the one you had," he said, thinking she would probably be less frightened by a broom that flew the wrong way than by one that lurched. Judging by her expression, she was relieved.

"Just point that one far to the left of where you actually want to go," he advised, mounting the other broom, which twitched under his touch.

As he had expected, Granger did much better with the wayward broom than he had. Once she had figured out the right angle to point the broom, she managed to follow Severus without much trouble. He, on the other hand, was clutching his broom handle so hard his fingers were going numb, buffeted both by the freezing wind and by the bucking broom, which wiggled and lurched and plunged like a three-legged hippogriff.

The Hebrides spread out before them, jagged rocks twisted and carved into eerie shapes that jutted into the silvery night with a soft sheen of ice and frost. From above, the cold swell and crash of the waves was dizzying, the swaying reflection of the full moon a hypnotic pull at the edges of Severus's awareness.

They ignored the larger islands, where a dusting of snow sparkled, and searched for the lone masses of rock that surged upward through the waves. When Severus could look back over his shoulder without seeing the glitter of Muggle lights behind him, he pointed Hermione down to a single massive hulking rock with a smaller pillar of stone beside it.

"Take the pillar!" he shouted over the wind.

She nodded, carefully directing her broom eighty-five degrees to the left of the pillar and allowing it to carry her straight to the narrow top.

Severus, on the other hand, descended in a fit of bursts and stops to the larger rock, climbing off the horrible broom with deep relief. The rock beneath his boots was slick, and crunched with sea salt or frost. Jagged blades of stone surrounded him, but there was a narrow, shallow dip, filled with a half-frozen puddle, where he could stand fairly steadily.

Drawing the Horcrux box out of his robes, he wedged it into the sharp, thrusting knives of rock in front of him. His heart was beating strangely fast, but whether with nerves or excitement, he couldn't tell. Whatever defenses the Horcruxes might have offered were contained in the box. Severus couldn't even feel the pull of their Dark magic. This should be simple.

Assuming he could manage the fire.

He drew his wand, then backed up as much as the narrow space would allow.

The wind was icy, the sea, the rock, all cold and sharp and empty. It was difficult to imagine any warmth surviving here. Severus himself was shivering, no longer in fury but from the wind. He needed the fury, though. More than that. His rage was usually icy cold, but he needed it to be hot, ravenous. Severus shut his eyes and imagined Dumbledore's face, but those blue eyes were cold. Potter, Black, his father, even Lucius - their eyes flashed through his mind, cold, cold, cold. Even Voldemort's red eyes, gleaming in Lucius's memory, had been cold, despite their evil glint.

Azkaban had been cold. The Shrieking Shack, cold. The dungeons of Hogwarts, the shabby house at Spinner's End -

The house, his house, destroyed by fire. His belongings. His books. His photographs.

What he wouldn't give to see the Shrieking Shack go up in flames. The tree by the lake. The horrid boat that had carried him across the North Sea. Malfoy Manor.

Severus smiled. Oh, how Lucius would moan, if his precious manor went up in flames.

He could imagine the fire now, could feel it igniting inside him. He urged it on, feeding it the memories, one by one - the house, the shack, the tree, the boat, the manor - his father's chair scraping back from the table, Lupin's claws digging into the wooden floor, the breeze swaying the branches as he swayed naked and humiliated beneath them, the creak of the boat as Azkaban drew nearer and nearer, the thud of Malfoy's bathroom door as Severus leaned against it, counting all the ways he could kill himself -

The Dark magic was a hiss, a snarl, a scream, burning inside him with a hunger that was not a void, a darkness that was not an absence, a force that devoured and destroyed and exploded.

Severus couldn't hear himself whisper the incantation. All he heard was the sudden crackling joy of it, the dancing devastation. Bright flame raged from his wand tip into the night, consuming the wind and ice, reaching for the waves and sky.

The Horcruxes were gone in an instant, the two slivers of Voldemort's precious soul snapping like twigs in a wildfire, torn to ash by the creatures in the fire, the hydras and serpents and dragons. They blazed upward, coiling and hissing and unfurling, hungry, always hungry.

The rock beneath the fire began to melt.

Severus might have been frightened, if he had been watching from outside, but the fire was his, the fire was _him,_ and he reveled in it. He wanted to watch the stone slide away into the sea, wanted to see the water glow with the orange of melting rock, melting earth - and this was _the_ Earth that he was melting, this wretched, unforgivable world, and he could destroy it, he could destroy all of it, until only a clean soft bed of ash remained.

Then, maybe, he could find someplace safe.

* * *

Hermione was clutching her face in anxiety as she watched the Fiendfyre explode toward the sky, as if it wanted to destroy the night itself. The rock was glowing - she saw Severus's broom burst apart in a flurry of sparks - and still he stood there, almost surrounded by it, obviously transfixed, or perhaps terrified.

She wanted to help him, but how could she? Her awful school broom would go up in flames just as surely as his had. Even from here, she could feel the heat blast her face, her hair crinkling in its warmth, her eyes tearing up from the light and this new, strange smell of burning rock.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw more fire. She turned, startled, to scan the dark horizon, half-convinced she had imagined it, but no - there it was again. A burst of fire on one of the other islands.

She squinted, baffled. Was it a bonfire? Or was someone signaling for help?

Another burst. A bonfire wouldn't be sporadic like that, would it? It had to be some kind of sig-

A fourth burst exploded, and this time she saw clearly that it was not on an island. It was in the air.

"Oh, no," she whispered, tears of fear rather than fire burning her eyes. "Oh, no, _oh, no!_ SEVERUS!"

She spun back toward the burning rock. He had obviously not heard her. Of course he hadn't, through the roar of the fire.

Still, she screamed again: "SEVERUS!"

Nothing.

Hermione let out a wordless cry of dismay, no longer even able to articulate her distress.

She had no choice. She had to risk the broom.

She was shaking as she mounted it, and the broom felt it. Almost before she had pointed it at the necessary angle from the burning rock, it was twitching and rolling, jerking sideways, then slamming her, terrifyingly, against the melting rock.

She screamed, in fear more than in pain. The rock she had struck was not, in fact, melting, although she could see the slow disturbing ooze of glowing stone not ten feet from her. The rock beneath her was hot, but not enough to burn her. Not yet, at least.

She gripped the wretched broom, only to watch a serpent of flame arc downward to devour it. She jerked away, cowering almost down to the waves, and the serpent wheeled away, snapping futilely at the sky, the broom barely more than a crumb in its maw.

"SEVERUS!" she tried again.

Nothing.

Hermione glanced back out over the water, catching sight of another burst of fire, much closer now, sweeping over the silver waves with a golden glow.

Gritting her teeth, she crawled up the searing rocks to where Severus stood.

She couldn't understand how he hadn't caught on fire yet. His cloak and robes swung in tempting tatters behind him, tantalizingly close to the flames. His black hair shone redly, his ebony wand gleaming crimson in the light of the hungry fire.

"SEVERUS!" she screamed again.

She was close enough now that he should have been able to hear her, but she could see, from his fire-lit expression, that he was completely enthralled by the cursed flame. There was something terrifying and hungry in him, something joyously enraged and released.

She was afraid of him, but she was more afraid that he was about to burn to death.

Scrambling over the rocks, she lunged for him and, with little regard for what startling him might mean for the fire, grabbed hold of him.

He turned to her, his face still full of flames, and for a moment she was as distant from him as from the sky. Then the fascination shifted, and his eyes cleared, and he was Severus, and he knew that she was Hermione.

And, in the moment he was no longer transfixed, the flames were his. The orange serpents descended from the sky, their bright tongues and fangs fading in bursts of sparks. He gave them an almost idle look, waved his wand, and the Fiendfyre was gone.

"Hermione -" he began.

"There's a DRAGON!" she shrieked.

She grabbed him by his burning hot robes and dragged him off the rock, not caring that they were falling, barely feeling the jagged stone that scraped into their skin along the way. Icy waves swallowed them up, not black with night or silver with moonlight, but red, fiery red, as flames shot from the sky above them and bathed the already half-melted rock.

The waves slammed them back against it, and they came up gasping, clutching the rock and biting back cries of pain at the cold. Fire lit the sky again, this time on the other side of the rock, and Hermione felt Severus's arm lock around her waist, pulling her close, sheltering her between his body and the rock.

Stone shook and cracked as weight descended on it. Hermione heard the scrape and scratch of claws carving into the rock, then the huffing growl of sulfurous breath.

When she and Severus looked up, they could see the dragon silhouetted against the moonlit sky, its neck swinging this way and that as it searched for the firemakers that had disturbed it.

The waves were an agony of icy knives. Hermione could feel Severus shivering uncontrollably behind her, and felt her own muscles contracting dangerously, her body so cold her shivers felt more like convulsions. Severus tugged at her robes, trying to push her up. She twisted to give him a terrified look, but he pushed her again, and she tried to make her fingers grip the rock tightly enough to pull up her weight.

The sound of water dripping from her clothes as she pulled herself against the rock nearly made her cry with fear, but the dragon didn't seem to notice.

A moment later, Severus was beside her, balanced as carefully as she was against the narrow shards of jutting rock, still painfully hot from the Fiendfyre. Without the brooms, their only choice was to Apparate, but there was no room to turn, and, with their frozen fingers, they were more than likely to splinch themselves even if there was.

Severus, apparently realizing this, reached around her to splay out his trembling fingers on the hot rock in front of her face, to warm them. Hermione flinched at the thought of it, but tried to follow suit. Her fingers were curled around her wand too tightly to unfold. Wincing at the pain, she settled for pressing the back of her hand against the hot rock.

For long moments, they just stood there, trying to breathe silently and flinching every time the dragon breathed. Severus was pressed so closely against her that she could feel his heart beating, a rapid drumming that was faster even than her own.

Yet when, several minutes later, Hermione shifted to look back at him, his expression showed no signs of the haze of panic that had seized hold of her. He was grinning from ear to ear, peering up at the dragon as if he was having the time of his life.

Hermione gaped at him, first in shocked disbelief, then in incredulous irritation.

Was he - was he _having fun?_

They were one wrong move away from being gobbled up by a dragon, and he was _happy about it?_

Was he _mad?_

He looked down at her suddenly, grin still fully in place. It was not the dark, hard-edged grin she had seen so many times. It really was a happy grin. A boyish grin. He wasn't shivering from the cold, the lunatic, he was quivering with excitement.

And it was obvious, from the way he was looking at her, that he wanted to share this bizarre joy with her.

Joy over… the dragon?

Incredulously, Hermione smiled back at him, if only because he so clearly wanted her to. Apparently satisfied by this, he looked back up at the dragon.

Looking absolutely _thrilled._

Hermione felt the sudden, just-barely-controllable urge to laugh. Severus Snape, a fan of dragons?

She looked up at it, trying to understand. She supposed it was very majestic, perched there on the rock, with the moon and the stars streaking across the sky behind it. She just found it a little hard to appreciate that majesty when it could eat them alive at any moment.

Severus had evidently managed to set this concern aside. The wonder on his face reminded her of - well, of Harry. The way Harry always looked when some new, dazzling type of magic was presented to him. Hermione had never quite managed to feel that way. She had read about most types of magic before she saw them, and even when she did see something new, she was usually too busy trying to figure it out to step back and appreciate the sheer wonder of it. Hermione liked to _know._ She didn't like to be amazed by the impossibility of things.

She would have thought Severus was the same way, but here he was, delightedly gazing up at a dragon.

Not because it was impossible, she thought. But certainly because it was magic.

She remembered what he had said about his childhood, that when he had come to Hogwarts he had just wanted to feel safe. She could easily imagine how he would have daydreamed about it in the years before he received his letter, envisioning a magnificent, magical place far removed from his dingy Muggle home and, she suspected, abusive Muggle father.

A dragon, she supposed, was quite as magnificent and magical as a castle. It was beautiful and powerful and even noble. She could freely admit that it was more impressive than almost any other creature on the planet, magical or otherwise. It was, in its own way, a much greater and more dignified creature than humans, Muggles and wizards alike.

Dragons were not cruel or dirty or low. They were fierce, protective, nearly invincible. She could see how a dragon would appeal to him.

Still… did it have to be appealing to him _now?_

The rock had warmed her enough that she was no longer shivering, and she was starting to feel like she could Apparate. There were several small outcroppings of stone that might offer a sufficient foothold for them to turn.

She wanted to tell Severus so, but his black eyes were still wide with wonder, his grin faded to a happy, satisfied smile as he stared up at the dragon, which had positioned itself so perfectly against the moon she might have thought it knew it was being observed. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Maybe there wasn't any harm in letting him have this.

The dragon yawned, sparks shooting out of its nose, then curled its neck around its body and rested its head, catlike, on its tail. Hermione could imagine the exact expression Hagrid would have made had he seen it, and found herself half-amused, half-exasperated to find an only slightly less soppy look on Severus's face.

He thought the dragon was cute, she was sure of it.

Then again, her Snape loved his Kneazle kitten more than he loved any other living thing (although he would, of course, have died before admitting it). Maybe it wasn't so shocking his younger self could see a sleeping dragon and think "cute" instead of the infinitely more logical "run."

Had her Snape been like this, the first time he had seen a dragon? Or had he been too broken, too hurt, too despairing? Had he ever had the chance to feel something as innocent as this? Was it too late for him to feel it now?

It was only when the moon had disappeared behind the dragon's bulk that Severus tore his gaze away from the creature, smiling at Hermione again with an openness she would never have expected to see from him. It was impossible not to smile back.

Then, to her infinite relief, he stepped onto a more stable bit of rock, gripped her hand, and Disapparated.

When they reappeared in front of her tent, she almost sank to the ground in relief.

"A dragon!" he exclaimed immediately. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Er," Hermione said, not wanting to lie, "yes, I have."

Severus looked half-disappointed, half-envious. "When?"

"Well, Hagrid hatched one in his cabin illegally during our first year, and invited us to watch -"

"You saw a dragon _hatch?"_

"- and then Harry had to steal a fake egg from a mother dragon during the Triwizard Tournament -"

"He _what?_ "

"- and when we broke into Gringotts to get Hufflepuff's cup, we had to fly out on the poor blind dragon they had chained up outside the Lestrange's vault."

Severus stared at her. "You didn't."

"We did," she said, shuddering. "It was terrifying."

"You… flew… a dragon?"

"It really wasn't as nice as it sounds."

Severus looked green, but she suspected it was with jealousy rather than the nausea she still felt at the memory.

"So this was nothing special for you," he accused suddenly.

She snorted. "Almost getting eaten by a dragon? No, _special_ isn't _quite_ the word I'd use."

Severus waved his hand. "That was nothing. We made it to the water in time."

"Nothing?" Hermione gaped at him. "It could have swallowed us whole!"

He looked pleased. "It was impressive, wasn't it?"

"Honestly!" Hermione threw her hands in the air. "You're worse than Hagrid!"

"I'm not like Hagrid," he said, insulted. "I would never hatch one myself. They're not _pets._ "

She was relieved to hear him say it. "You seem to like them a great deal."

"It's not a matter of _liking_ them. They're _fascinating._ Surely you understand that?" He gave her a doubtful look.

"Yes," she said, "of course they're _fascinating_. But I'd still rather not be eaten by one."

He rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't have eaten you."

Hermione glared at him. "I don't see how incineration is much better! Dragons are _dangerous,_ Severus."

He folded his arms, brows raised. "Can you honestly tell me _you've_ never set someone on fire?"

She felt her face flush hot despite the cold. "Well, yes, all right, once. But I fail to see -"

"Who was it?" he asked, smirking.

Her flush deepened. "Er… you?"

He looked indignant. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"You were muttering an incantation to - er - save Harry from a cursed broomstick. Only I thought you were the one cursing it."

He stared at her. "So you decided to set me on fire?"

"It was only for a few seconds!" she replied defensively.

He stared at her, mouth working, then turned and walked into the tent. She followed close on his heels.

"I didn't know!" she said. "You were staring at him and - are you all right?"

He had bent over suddenly, shaking. Dobby, who had been clattering away in the kitchen, hurried toward them, ears bouncing.

"Is Severus Snape sick? Should Dobby be making -"

Severus straightened suddenly, his mouth stretched in a grin, his eyes red with tears.

"Are you _laughing?_ " Hermione asked, astounded.

He nodded, clutching his ribs and finally managing to burst into audible peals of laughter. Hermione couldn't understand it at all.

Severus collapsed on the couch, still chuckling. "You must have been an utter terror," he said. "Even I never considered setting a teacher on fire. How old were you?"

"Er… twelve?"

He burst into another fit of laughter. "Impressive. Very impressive, Hermione."

It was the first time he had used her name without prompting, and she found herself unaccountably pleased. "I'm not sure 'impressive' is the word - er - _he_ would use," she said, conscious that Dobby was listening, and definitely not wanting the Order to get wind of another Snape.

Severus, catching on immediately, answered, "Surely he knows what you're capable of."

Hermione flushed. "He - er - knows bits and pieces."

"I'd like to hear about those bits and pieces someday."

She flushed again, and this time it was pleasant and warm and spread through her chest. "Would you?"

He leaned back and closed his eyes, still grinning. "Yes, I think I would."


	25. Chapter 25

25

Harry sat on the floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, absently watching his godson chew on a rubber duck Mr. Weasley had given him, while Andromeda and Ginny sat on the sofa talking about the challenges of raising babies. Harry wasn't really listening, and he suspected that Ginny, who had no interest in having babies before she had had the chance to play on a professional Quidditch team for a few years, was distracting Andromeda for his sake. Even Teddy, whose hair was dramatically changing from blue to green to red, couldn't hold his attention right now.

Hermione had been missing for four days. They had no idea if she was alive or dead, soulless or captured, rotting away in a cell in Azkaban or on trial in front of the Wizengamot or a prisoner of Death Eaters or any of the other thousand horrible things Harry had been envisioning since he'd left her behind.

Ron was barely speaking to him, and Harry didn't blame him. When the alternate reality Snape had told them his plan, Harry had agreed to it, and Ron hadn't, precisely for the reason Harry was tormented by now: they couldn't know if it had worked.

Snape, their Snape, had thought it was the plan most likely to succeed, and Harry knew enough by now to take Snape at his word. If Snape thought it was their best shot, then it probably was.

Ron, of course, disagreed. Not only did he suspect their Snape of having "dishonorable intentions" toward Hermione, but he also suspected the younger Snape of being loyal to the Death Eaters. The idea of leaving Hermione in his hands was outrageous to Ron. And the fact that Snape was the reason Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't talking to each other hadn't gone unnoticed by him, either.

"He's splitting us apart," Ron had said. "First Hermione took his side, and look where that got her."

But Harry knew full well that it wasn't Snape who had gotten her where she was now. It was him.

It was just like Sirius. Another creepy arch, another tearing loss. Only this time he didn't know if Hermione was really gone, or if she was out there somewhere, alone and afraid, waiting for him to come save her.

No, that wasn't Hermione's way. If she was out there, she was thinking of a way to save herself. But Harry couldn't help remembering the troll, and Malfoy Manor, and a half-dozen other times that Hermione hadn't been able to get out on her own. She was brilliant, their Hermione, but she wasn't cut out to fight alone.

Teddy, waving the slobbery duck in front of his face, changed his hair to honey-brown curls, a frizzy mess that he had taken to copying whenever Hermione was around. Hermione wasn't around now, though, and Harry suspected Teddy had noticed.

"I'm sorry," Harry told him quietly. "It's my fault. I ran off, just like…" _Just like your father._ But of course he would never say that to Teddy, not even now, when he was too young to understand. Teddy didn't need to know about Lupin's faults, the way Harry had learned about his dad's.

And, after all, who was Harry to judge Lupin now? He had run off, too, hadn't he? Not for the same reasons - not because he was afraid - but still. He had left Teddy just as surely as Tonks and Lupin had. The fact that he had come back didn't really matter. He had spent every moment since then thinking about leaving again.

About going after her.

It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. He had gotten Hermione into this mess, and he couldn't just abandon her. The only reason Harry hadn't gone back through the gate already was that Snape had dragged him and Ron straight to the Longbottoms' house, where half the Order had already been assembled, then Flooed the Weasleys to join them, before explaining to all of them - the Longbottoms, the Weasleys, McGonagall, Flitwick, even Neville - what Harry and Ron had done.

That was another reason Ron wasn't talking to him. Mrs. Weasley was doing her level best to keep Ron at home, as much as that was possible with a soon-to-be-nineteen-year-old-boy. Considering she was still doing his laundry and cooking his meals, she still had a fair amount of sway.

Harry was stuck here, where other Order members had been taking it in turns to "visit" him. Andromeda, Mr. Weasley, Bill, George, even McGonagall. Some of them, like McGonagall, had taken the opportunity to explain just how very stupid he had been. George, on the other hand, had told him he understood completely, and would've done the same.

Andromeda understood, too, but that didn't mean she wasn't disappointed. Harry suspected she'd volunteered to come so often so she could show him how adorable and important Teddy was - how important the future was.

"They're gone," she'd told him gently. "You can't spend your whole life looking for them."

He wanted to tell her she didn't understand, but he held back. She had lost her daughter, which he knew must be worse, but she _didn't_ understand. She hadn't grown up without parents. She hadn't grown up in a _cupboard._ Even Teddy, who was an orphan like Harry, would never understand what that had been like (and Harry would kill anyone who ever tried to make him).

Of course Harry knew that seeing his parents in an alternate reality wouldn't change his own childhood. He had hoped, when he'd asked the Guardian to take him to a world where they were alive, that he would get to see them happy, see _himself_ happy, and know that at least it would have been _possible._

He had never expected to be taken to a past world, which proved beyond any doubt that it _wasn't_ possible.

Harry could never have been happy. They could never have been happy. None of it was ever possible. Maybe that should have made it easier to let go, but it didn't.

He wanted to _make_ it possible.

Of course he cared about Teddy, and wanted to make a good future for him. But he wanted his parents to have a future, too. He wanted whatever children they could have, be it him or someone else, to have a future. He wanted to be able to change _something,_ to make _something_ right, to get back some tiny bit of hope out of all the people he had lost.

And he wanted Hermione back.

* * *

Severus Snape stood in front of the Grangers' house, bracing himself for what was coming.

He had never seen the house before, but it was exactly what he would have pictured: a well-kept, not-quite-modest house that reminded him intensely of the Evans' home he had visited so long ago. The Grangers didn't seem to have the same fondness for flowers that Mrs. Evans had always had, but their frosty grass was neatly trimmed, with an attractive bench under an icy tree where he imagined Miss Granger had spent many thousands of hours reading during the summer months.

Her cat, Crookshanks, sat in one of the windows, watching him. He knew the creature had been living with her parents ever since their return from Australia; by the sounds of it, the cat was holding quite the grudge. In his pocket, Fiend wriggled, poking her head out to stare at the much larger, uglier member of her species before leaning her face forward to give Severus's hand a gentle nip.

Yes, it was cold, and yes, it was cowardly of him to stand there. He gave the kitten an acknowledging pat on the head and strode up the walk to the door. Crookshanks jumped down from the window, and he heard the creature's impressive meows even before Mrs. Granger opened the door.

She seemed to recognize him at once, though they had never met. Perhaps she read the _Daily Prophet,_ or perhaps Miss Granger had merely offered an accurate description of his appearance. Severus knew he had given her plenty of reasons over the years to mention him to her parents, especially after his hideous comment about her teeth. No doubt her dentist parents had noticed the next summer what he had observed in their very next class, the shrunken teeth, solid evidence that words could, in fact, cause harm.

If this woman didn't hate him already, she no doubt would be the end of today's conversation.

"Professor Snape," Mrs. Granger greeted him, not inviting him in.

"Mrs. Granger, I presume?" he replied, though she was obviously Hermione Granger's mother; the teeth alone would have proven it.

"I hope you won't mind if I ask you a question?" she said. "Hermione's very insistent on it, for security."

"Of course." What question could she possibly ask?

"What mark did you assign Hermione on her first essay in fifth year?"

Severus arched his brows, but he remembered well - it was the first assignment to which he had applied O.W.L. marks. "Acceptable."

Mrs. Granger nodded, then fiddled with something on the wall beside the door. Severus felt something fall, a ward he hadn't even sensed. "Your daughter's skill at warding grows more impressive all the time."

Mrs. Granger looked truly surprised. "A compliment? You _are_ Professor Snape, aren't you?"

Severus offered her a tight smile. She would be much less keen to tease him after she knew why he had come.

"Is Hermione all right?" she asked, as he stepped inside. She was watching his face carefully.

"I don't know," he answered bluntly.

He saw the panic flash in her eyes, the despairing prayer of _no, not again._ He held out his hands in what he hoped was a halfway calming gesture. "Please allow me to explain the situation before you jump to conclusions." Not that the conclusions would be good, but he needed her to stay calm enough for him to at least get it out.

She nodded, her eyes full of tears, and hurriedly showed him into the sitting room. Crookshanks followed at her heels, throwing Severus a chastising look. He was relieved when the cat jumped into Mrs. Granger's lap and allowed her to press him to her chest for comfort. It seemed to return some measure of self-control to her.

"Please," she said, "tell me what's happened."

"Is Mr. Granger -"

"He's not here," she said sharply. "Just tell me."

Severus nodded. Fiend had crawled out of his pocket and into his lap, and he rested a hand on her fur, seeking his own comfort.

"Are you familiar with the research your daughter and I have been conducting?"

"About the gates? The ones in the prison?"

"Correct. Did she explain the nature of the gates? That one of them has the power to transport wizards to other realities?"

Mrs. Granger went pale. "You're not saying that she -"

Severus held up a hand. "Two of Miss Granger's friends -"

"Harry and Ron?"

"Yes," Severus said, with distaste. "They discovered her research, which she had chosen not to share with them for reasons that will become clear shortly -"

"I know the reasons," Mrs. Granger said, with distaste to match Severus's own. "Those boys have been getting her into trouble for years."

Severus had never expected to find a kindred spirit in Miss Granger's mother. With an anger that matched her own, he continued, "As you have no doubt guessed, Potter and Weasley decided to explore the gates for themselves. I believe the idea was Potter's - he wished to find a reality in which his parents had not been killed -"

Mrs. Granger flinched.

"- and, naturally, when your daughter discovered what they had done -"

"She followed them." Mrs. Granger buried her face in one hand. "Good God. When did this happen?"

Severus hesitated. "Four days -"

"Four _days?_ "

"It was our hope that Miss Granger would find a way to return," Severus replied, "or at least to send a message. That has not occurred."

"What do you mean, 'our hope'? And why only her? What about the boys?"

Severus knew an explosion was coming. "Potter and Weasley returned without her."

Mrs. Granger cried out, half in anger, half in fear.

"They brought with them a younger version of myself."

That surprised her enough to halt her outburst. "Of - of you? But - why younger?"

He admired her ability to analyze the situation even in the midst of her distress. "It is Potter's belief that when he asked to be taken to a world in which his parents were still alive, he was taken not only to an alternate reality, but to the _past_ of an alternate reality, because that is the only time in which his parents are alive… in any world."

Mrs. Granger looked horrified. "How far back? Is it - is it during the war? The first war?"

"Yes."

She let out another small cry.

"My younger self," Severus continued quickly, "volunteered to return to his world to protect her -"

"Protect her from what?"

"From the Dementors, first and foremost. From the Ministry, the Death Eaters - I have no way of knowing, at present."

"The Dementors… because it's in the prison." Again, Mrs. Granger was not so panicked that she had lost the use of her reason.

"Yes." Severus hesitated. "I have reason to believe that Miss Granger was not entirely helpless against the Dementors -"

"But she struggles with that spell - the Patronus -"

"She does," Severus agreed. "However… did she ever share with you the essay she wrote in her sixth year, regarding Dementors?"

Mrs. Granger shook her head. "We read over a lot of her homework during the summers, but that was the summer when…"

"When she Obliviated you and sent you to Australia."

Mrs. Granger grimaced, but nodded.

"I assigned the essay," Severus said, "asking the students to present what they believed was the best defense against the Dementors. As usual, your daughter was incapable of restraining herself."

Despite the situation, Mrs. Granger managed a watery smile.

"Among the many defenses she listed were several which I believe she would have been more than capable of using, even in such a dire situation. One in particular impressed me with its originality and, to be frank, flawlessness. It was the only time I ever gave Miss Granger an 'Outstanding' on an essay. Something I think she would have remembered."

Mrs. Granger nodded.

"If Miss Granger was able to retain enough self-possession to use the defense in question, then I think it is highly likely she was still alive when my younger self returned to that world. What is less certain is what happened to them then. Even if they were somehow able to escape the prison - which would have been no small feat - they would have then been incapable of sending a message back to this world, or of returning Miss Granger. Breaking into Azkaban would be quite as difficult as breaking out."

"So she's trapped there."

Severus nodded.

"What - what can I do?" she asked, her voice breaking. "I can never _do_ anything! She's my baby!"

"There is nothing you can do," Severus said. "But I wished to make you aware of the situation now… before I go in search of her."

Mrs. Granger gulped in air as if trying to swallow the hope he had just offered her. "You're going after her?"

"Yes. I needed a few days to make preparations, but I am certain now that I will be ready for the challenges of this other world."

Mrs. Granger stared at him in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable. "She said you were brave."

Severus clenched his jaw. "I promise you I will do everything in my power to return your daughter to you safely."

Mrs. Granger closed her eyes, tears spilling out. "Thank you."

* * *

Harry tried to be smarter this time. He really did. He didn't have Hermione's magically extended bag, but he managed to pack a backpack full of food, maps, and both Muggle and Wizarding money. He was just stowing a magical first aid kit in a side pocket when Ginny poked her head into the room.

Unsuccessfully, Harry tried to hide the backpack behind him.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Relax. I already know."

Harry stared at her. "How?"

"Because I know you, Harry." She came into the room, carrying a backpack of her own.

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, Ginny, you can't -"

"And what are you going to do if the Ministry finds out you're unmarried?"

"I'm only eighteen!"

"You don't know how long you'll be there!" Ginny snapped back. "I'm not risking you ending up in a forced marriage to Cho Chang's aunt or something -"

"Ginny," Harry said, frowning at her. "That's not going to happen."

"You're right," she said brightly, setting her backpack down on the bed and pulling out a small box. "It's not. Harry, will you marry me?"

Harry gaped at her, and at the ring in her hand. She rolled her eyes again. " _Relax_. It's just for show. Put it on, I've got one, too."

Harry glanced nervously at the door. "Andromeda -"

"Is recovering from the Puking Pastille I dissolved in her tea," Ginny said, completely unabashed. "We've probably got about half an hour to get out of here and to the gate. So put on the ring."

Harry hesitated. "Teddy -"

"I called Luna over, she's watching him."

That wasn't entirely reassuring, though Teddy _did_ like Luna. Her giant eyes, especially.

"All right," Harry said, half-panicked, half-resentful, "fine." He shoved the ring onto his finger.

"I'm going to remember that's how you reacted when you ask me one day," Ginny warned, mimicking him in a dramatically sulky voice, "'All right, _fine_.'" She shoved a matching band around her finger.

"Your mother's not going to let me marry you if we're not careful," Harry said.

"Don't worry, George'll calm her down."

"You told George?"

"'Course. He helped me pack." She patted her backpack.

Harry had to admit, Ginny might be a good companion.

"Don't worry about Mum," she said. "I'd be more worried about Ron if I were you."

Harry flinched. "You don't think we should -"

"No, definitely not," she said. "Anyway, we don't have a wife for him, and he _will_ be nineteen soon."

Harry nodded, feeling traitorous, but it was all too easy to imagine Ron trying to marry Hermione, or something. He knew that wouldn't end well.

"Ready?" Ginny said.

Harry took a deep breath. "Ready."

Sneaking out of Grimmauld Place was absurdly easy, thanks to Ginny. Luna and Teddy waved at them cheerily as they passed, and that was that. Harry had left a note on his bedside table explaining everything to everyone (not that anyone would really need it; they would all know where he had gone), and he had left Kreacher with instructions to keep an eye on Teddy while he was gone. He and Ginny Apparated straight to the rocky coast where the boat to Azkaban was usually kept, and found it swaying on unusually gentle waves. Harry wanted to take that as a good sign.

Everything would be fine. Everything except -

"Fancy meeting you here, Potter."

Harry wheeled around. It was Snape, of course. How had he known?

But no. Snape had a backpack not unlike his. He was bundled up in a heavy winter cloak, dragon hide gloves, and a thick and rather knobbly black scarf.

"You're going?" Harry blurted, at the same moment Ginny asked, "Did Hermione knit you that?"

Snape glanced between the two of them, his eyes cold. "Yes," he answered.

To both questions, Harry suspected.

"You're under forty," Ginny pointed out. "They'll marry you off."

"They will not," Snape replied with a sneer. His gaze dropped to their fingers. "I see Potter has finally popped the question."

Ginny snorted. "I popped the question. He was a complete berk about it. He'll need some practice before we really get there."

"Then I suggest you return to Grimmauld Place and start practicing."

"No," Harry said. "I did this, I have to -"

"You don't have to do anything, Potter. I will find Miss Granger. Run along home."

" _No._ "

Ginny, glancing back and forth between them, rolled her eyes. "Really, professor, if you send him home he'll just come back."

He scowled at her. "I am not a professor. And _you_ have not even graduated school."

Ginny shrugged. "I dropped out."

"How impressive."

"I think you know I can handle myself."

They glared at each other. Harry shifted impatiently. "Can we just go?"

"I will not allow -"

"I'm not your responsibility anymore!" Harry snapped.

Snape glared at them both, then snarled, "Fine. But if we make it back alive kindly do _not_ inform Molly Weasley that I was involved in this."

"Don't worry," Ginny said. "The less Mum knows, the better."


	26. Chapter 26

26

Regulus felt the touch of Voldemort's mind in his own like the sharp strike of a snake, cold and piercing and then cold and numbing. He would have swayed if he were standing, but he was on his knees, braced against the cold stone floor of the Rosier family home, as captivated by Voldemort's eyes as any prey would be by a serpent's.

It was rare that he saw his lord in person. Being a student, it was difficult to slip out of Hogwarts, and even in the summer Voldemort had been too busy with his older Death Eaters to spare much time for his newest recruit. Yet Regulus had never felt himself to be neglected. He knew how much Voldemort valued him, not only as a Black but as a spy in Hogwarts. When, trembling with his own audacity, he had touched his finger to his Dark Mark the night after he had found Snape in the library, Voldemort had instantly offered him a summons.

He felt the moment Voldemort watched his memory of Snape more than he actually experienced it. He always tried to stay out of the way when Voldemort entered his mind, focusing on the sensations of cold and pain rather than the naked, ugly feeling of having his memories gripped in another wizard's mind. Yet Voldemort's surge of anger, of snake-like spitting rage, drew Regulus away from his safe cold distance and into the library, where Severus Snape coolly suggested that Voldemort's blood and heritage were not pure.

 _I am his enemy._

Voldemort slid out of Regulus's mind, writhing with his teeth bared.

"He will die."

Regulus bowed his head, shutting his eyes against the lingering ache. "Yes, my lord."

He knew Voldemort had seen that he himself had told Snape so, that he had been horrified and disgusted by Snape's insults. His own loyalty could not be doubted.

Voldemort slid away, his dark robes caressing the shadows as he slowly circled the room. The other Death Eaters who had been granted the honor of attending him tonight shivered as he passed around their circle, some in anticipation, some in terror. Regulus understood the feeling well. Voldemort was not like other wizards. There was something in him that was darker, purer, stranger than any wizard he had ever seen. If the Dark Arts could have manifested in human form, they might have taken a shape not unlike this lord's.

Finally, Voldemort returned to the place where Regulus knelt. "And the woman? You did not see her?"

Regulus bowed his head farther, knowing he had failed. "Her Disillusionment Charm was poor, but enough to distort her features. I did not see her face. I am sorry, my lord."

Voldemort did not seem angry. "It was Evans, I suspect."

Regulus hesitated. The girl's voice had seemed too high-pitched to his ears to belong to Lily Evans, but then, she _had_ been alarmed. The fact that she had cried out for him to stop, rather than hexing him immediately, certainly reminded him of Evans, but still… "I am not certain, my lord."

Voldemort waved a pale, spindly hand in dismissal. "It was Evans. Snape betrayed us for her - for his _love_ for a filthy Mudblood - and now he is reaping his reward." His lips curled dangerously. "It will be brief."

"I returned to the library after they left, my lord. They were searching through _Daily Prophet_ articles."

"Oh?" Voldemort seemed only mildly interested.

"Through obituaries."

"Perhaps they have realized the prudence of preparing their own."

Several Death Eaters laughed. Regulus did not find it amusing. "Snape means to oppose you -"

"And do you believe Severus Snape is a match for me?"

"Of course not, my lord," Regulus replied hastily. "But Lucius wanted to recruit him for a reason. He's resourceful. He could be a threat to our cause, if not to you, my lord."

It was dangerous to mention Lucius Malfoy in front of Voldemort these days, but Regulus's duty was to serve, not to please. Severus Snape was _not_ a match for Voldemort, but he was certainly a match for some of his Death Eaters, and Regulus knew they were inclined to underestimate him.

Voldemort seemed to understand. "Do not fear, Regulus. Severus Snape will not have the chance to damage our cause. Nor will his filthy Mudblood whore. They will see what happens to those who defy me. Their fate is already approaching… is it not, Wormtail?"

A short, crumpled figure in Death Eater robes and a mask crept forward, cowering and cringing as if from a whip. Regulus rose and returned to his own place in the circle, looking down at the pathetic creature known to the rest of them only as Wormtail.

"You will have one chance to redeem yourself for your failure, Wormtail. Succeed, and I will grant you the reward you requested. Fail again…"

Wormtail shivered violently. Regulus eyed him in repulsed curiosity. Wormtail had failed? How?

As if sensing his curiosity, Voldemort looked at him, his eyes glinting like blood. "Wormtail lost his position in the Order of the Phoenix last night. He has paid dearly for that failure - have you not, Wormtail?"

Wormtail nodded, shivering where he knelt. There was a twitching, spasmodic jerk to his shivers that made Regulus wonder just how long he had been held under the Cruciatus Curse. Long enough to cause permanent nerve damage?

"But Wormtail has other means of gathering information, don't you, Wormtail? And you know where a certain… _felicitous…_ event will be held."

Wormtail nodded, trembling.

"You are certain Dumbledore will not attend?"

"I heard them talking about it," Wormtail whispered. "Three days ago… J-Ja- I mean, Potter, he said Dumbledore wouldn't come. They invited him, but he wouldn't come."

"The old man may have changed his mind, after learning of your treachery," Voldemort said.

Wormtail shook his head. "Ja-" He cut himself off, swallowing. " _Potter_ is too proud. He would never ask for help from - from an adult -"

"Even if the help was freely offered?"

Wormtail shook his head.

"You said there will be Aurors present."

"Moody - and the trainees - the Longbottoms -"

"They will be disposed of."

Wormtail nodded, cowering closer to the floor.

"You will attend. You will prove yourself, Wormtail, or you will die trying. You will earn your reward."

Wormtail nodded again. With his face almost touching the floor, he whimpered, "Yes, my lord."

"Redeem yourself for this mistake, Wormtail," Voldemort said, his robes brushing the floor in front of Wormtail's face, "and I will give you the wife you desire."

Regulus could hear Wormtail sniffle as he bent his head forward to kiss his master's robes. The tears stained the robes for a moment. Then they seeped into black.

* * *

Potter and the Weasley girl sat huddled together in the middle of the boat, she pressing her freckled face into his shoulder as the wind whipped around them. Severus eyed them with considerable distaste. He had spent the last twenty miles considering ways to get rid of them, from locking them both in a vacant cell in Azkaban to stranding them in the middle of the North Sea. He had even considered Obliviating them.

Yet he had come to the horrible conclusion that none of these options would work.

Seven years ago, when Potter had been nothing more than a tiny, messy-haired nuisance, Severus might have believed the boy could be deterred. That was before the basilisk-slaying. The break-ins (two of them) at the Ministry. The break-in to _Gringotts._ The break- _out_ of Gringotts, on the back of a bloody dragon. The half-a-dozen escapes from the Dark Lord. The dozen other stunts Severus didn't even know about, but that he did not doubt had occurred.

Severus had come to firmly and despairingly believe that Harry Potter could not be deterred, cowed, discouraged, intimidated, or in any other way forced to give up on any idea that entered his worthless brain. He might have made a tenacious Hufflepuff, if he hadn't been so creatively insane. He certainly had the loyalty.

In another person, Severus might (almost) have been persuaded to admire those qualities. It was to Potter's credit that he hadn't forgotten all about his friend. But the idea of dragging Potter around with him in another war zone was enough to make his stomach churn. He couldn't fathom how Miss Granger had managed to survive the anxiety of it for seven whole years.

The Weasley girl, he admitted, might be an asset. She lacked subtlety (as all Weasleys did), but he had seen her duel, and he knew full well that she would be a match for the most inexperienced of the Death Eaters, and that she might even survive the rest simply through the element of surprise. There were few things more startling than having hordes of bats shoot out of your nose.

Still, Severus had intended to embark on this mission alone. He was used to working alone; he preferred it. Though he had advised his younger self to seek out help, he knew that he himself never did so unless the consequences would be so terrible it would be foolish to do otherwise. He couldn't see how the consequences of _not_ bringing Potter and his girlfriend would be terrible.

Unless, of course, Potter came back at a later date, lost control of his Patronus again, and got himself Kissed.

The evening sky was streaked with gold and white, the sea swelling in cold silver waves. Azkaban, once so dreadful, looked stark and sharp and beautiful in the icy pale colors. There was no fog to bar the way, no gloom to seep from the walls.

It was still a prison, but not one Severus would have feared. On a day like this, the prisoners with windows might a shred of wistful hope, rather than the despairing urge to hurtle themselves into the ocean below.

They were lucky. Severus, climbing out of the boat onto the shore, took several long moments to appreciate how lucky they were. This might be the last time he saw such a sky. Or any sky.

The Weasley girl was obviously untroubled by such thoughts, her expression one of mingled determination and excitement as she surveyed the fortress. Potter, though, looked at the sky as Severus did, then back across the ocean to the country long out of sight, the country they might have left forever.

Then, with a grim look, the boy turned back toward the fortress and strode up to the guards, who greeted him with such nauseating enthusiasm that the Weasley girl mimed vomiting behind their backs.

Severus did not turn back to look at the sky when they reached the black gaping doorway to the prison. He did not think about anything he had left behind. He could feel Fiend wriggling in a pocket of his cloak (she had bitten him rather severely when he suggested leaving her with the Longbottoms), and that was enough. He had already said his goodbyes.

Potter led the way down to the gate, past prisoners who gaped and pointed and, in several cases, gasped, "The Boy Who Lived!" A few of them looked at the Weasley girl, too, and one of them reached for her with a comment that made both Potter and Severus raise their wands, but the girl had already hexed him. His howls and the chittering of bats echoed after them halfway down the stairs.

Severus, still contemplating how to get the two dunderheaded Gryffindors out of the otherworldly Azkaban alive, felt an idea begin to form.

When they entered the cave where the gate stood, the Weasley girl's eyebrows arched in curiosity. "It's different than the other one."

Severus knew she must mean the gate in the Ministry, the gate Black had fallen through.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, glancing around. "Where's the -"

He fell silent as the ever-shifting Guardian appeared.

"You may ask a question," he-she-it said in a tone than swung from benevolence to indifference to malevolence.

Potter gulped. "I want to - I mean, is it possible to see the world where my parents are -"

Severus cut him off. "Is it possible to travel to the same world Hermione Granger traveled to four days ago, from this cave?"

Potter flushed, obviously realizing his mistake. His question could have taken them to any number of possible pasts.

The Guardian nodded. "It is possible."

The Gate filled with shifting light. The Weasley girl looked nervous now, but Potter took her hand and they walked through together. For a moment Severus was alone. There was a cold shiver of fear in his chest, or of loss - of finality. He might never set foot in his own world again.

The friendships he had begun to form, the garden Longbottom had been growing for him, his research, his future - all gone.

It wasn't the first time he had been required to let go of everything, but he felt tired in a way he hadn't before. He felt old.

So many possibilities had passed him by. So many hopes had been shattered. He was alone and without a future once more.

He held onto that for one moment, regretting it bitterly. Then he stepped through the gate.

* * *

He had expected more of a transition. A period of shifting possibilities, of broken worlds, of his homeless body smashing through the universe's boundaries. Instead the step that had begun in his world simply ended in another, with no transition whatsoever in between.

It was startling in its lack of anything that could startle.

"Weird, isn't it?" Potter said. "I figured it would hurt."

The Weasley girl was poking at the arch. "Wonder what it's made of?"

Severus had wondered that many times himself, but had no answer. The matter was hardly relevant now.

"Should I go ahead and cast my Patronus?" Potter asked. "Or d'you think the magic will stop it here?"

"You will not need a Patronus," Severus said.

The teenagers both stared at him. "What?"

Severus raised his wand. Potter and the Weasley girl were both quick to raise their own, but not quick enough.

With a loud _BANG,_ Severus Transfigured Potter into a bat.

He had counted on startling the girl enough to delay whatever hex she had in mind. He had not miscalculated. She gazed at her boyfriend, flapping in a clumsy heap on the ground, and looked up only to find herself down there with him.

Fiend, poking her head out of his pocket, surveyed the flopping creatures with great interest.

"Resist the temptation," he told her, bending down to lift the Potter bat by the scruff of his tiny neck. The creature flapped rebelliously, but with a tap of his wand Severus immobilized him, then dropped him in a pocket. Fiend reached out a curious paw toward it.

"Resist," Severus told her again, immobilizing the Weasley bat as well and dropping it into a third pocket.

Then he pointed his wand at his own face, Transfigured his mouth out of existence, and began to Occlude.

He lifted from the ground like a shadow, the skill of flight Voldemort had taught him a year ago more welcome in this moment than it had ever been before. With a cold, concealed mind - a cold, concealed soul - he floated from the cave and into the prison.

The Dementors did not sense him at first. When they did - when he had silently, gracefully flown into their midst - it was with utter confusion that they swept near him. They could sense the animals, he suspected, and they could sense him as well - sense his mental shields, if not what was behind them. Patronuses were very bright and flashy, but to truly escape a Dementor's interest, it was not love and hope and happiness that provided the best defense. It was nothingness.

Severus, floating soundlessly in the air, floating thoughtlessly in his mind, was nothing. He was neither the burgeoning turmoil of emotion the Dementors might have found in a human, nor the gaping, sucking hunger they themselves embodied. He was neither void nor matter. He was simply a force, indefinable and, to the Dementors, inedible.

They had no interest in him. They let him go.

He floated, not slowly, but not quickly, through the dark, dank, horrid walls of the prison. He could feel the hunger of the Dementors sucking at the edges of his shields, but he had been in their company many times, first during the year after Black escaped, then, even more often, during his last two and a half years of spying, after the Dementors had turned on the Ministry and let the Death Eaters escape. He had learned how to be nothing in their presence. It was the only way he had been able to keep his memories from betraying him - not only to them, but to the Dark Lord, who would have been very furious indeed to learn which memories the Dementors forced Severus to relive.

No prisoners reached out to him as he passed. No voices called after him. He slid through the gloomy air until he reached the doorway, and then he slid out into the night.

* * *

Harry felt himself twist and stretch and swell in startling, disturbing ways. Suddenly, without really knowing what he had been before, he was human again.

Ginny, sitting in a disheveled heap beside him, looked equally startled.

"You were a bat," she said. She looked up at Snape. "Was I a bat?"

"You were," he said indifferently.

Harry stared at him. "You turned us into _bats?_ "

Snape sneered slightly. "Your father turned me into a bat once. I assumed you would find the experience equally amusing."

Harry gave him a sharp look, then glanced around, recognizing the Scottish coast they had disembarked from earlier that evening. Even at twilight, he could see that the rickety boat was significantly less rickety than it had been before.

Because it was twenty years younger. Because they were in the other world.

Snape had gotten them out of Azkaban.

By turning them into bats.

He looked back at Snape. "It wasn't amusing. It was brilliant."

Snape couldn't hide his surprise, and Harry didn't bother to hide his grin. "How did you do it?" he asked. "You couldn't have Transfigured yourself into an animal. You're not an Animagus… are you?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "If you had paid attention in my class, Potter, you would know the best defense against Dementors is -"

"- Occlumency. Yeah, I know that's what you said, but you're not telling me you Occluded against _all_ of them! There were hundreds!"

Harry could tell Snape was enjoying this opportunity to have his skill recognized, even if he was trying hard to be contemptuous about it. "I would not expect you to understand the power of Occlumentic shields, Potter. You never bothered to learn them."

"I did learn them a little, eventually," he said. "I blocked Voldemort during the war."

Snape looked insultingly surprised. Harry couldn't blame him. Ginny, finally recovering from the shock of having been a bat, said, "Don't say his name here, remember. What if he sets up another Taboo?"

Harry looked at Snape. "Do you think that's possible?"

"The Dark Lord researched naming jinxes for many years before he managed to curse his own," Snape replied. "But this is not our world. Possibilities may have changed. Even a small difference might have enabled the Dark Lord to accomplish such a spell decades earlier."

"Right," Harry said. "Riddle it is."

"So what now?" Ginny asked. "Did you look for Hermione in Azkaban?"

Snape shook his head. "I passed the cell where my younger self was incarcerated. It was empty. It is possible they are imprisoned elsewhere in Azkaban, but… despite my skill at Occlumency… lingering longer than absolutely necessary was not wise."

"So we need to find a _Daily Prophet,_ " Harry said. "If they escaped, it would be on the front page."

Snape nodded his agreement. "We can find a _Prophet_ in Diagon Alley," he said, "but you will need to change your hair, Potter, or risk being mistaken for your father. Particularly," he grimaced slightly, "when you are accompanied by a woman with red hair."

Harry started. He had never considered that Ginny had any resemblance to his mother. In fact, she did _not_ have a resemblance to her. Her hair was brighter, she was more freckly, more athletic, more -

"Calm yourself, Potter," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "I am not suggesting any Oedipal tendencies on your part -"

"Any edible tendencies?" Harry echoed, baffled.

" _Oedipal,_ Potter. It indicates a sexual attraction to one's mother -"

"I don't - Ginny does NOT look like my mum!"

Snape looked amused. Harry couldn't even bear to look at Ginny.

"Not on closer inspection," Snape finally said, after a pause that, Harry suspected, Snape savored. "But it is unlikely that Lily is widely known in Wizarding Britain. Your father, on the other hand, is the heir to a wealthy pureblood family. It is probable that he is known to be engaged or married to a Muggleborn girl, who has no doubt been described as a redhead."

Harry scowled. He could see Snape's point. "What do you want me to do with my hair?"

"I think turning it blond should be sufficient."

Harry grimaced. When he risked a glance at Ginny, she was grimacing, too. Snape, obviously impatient with both of them, waved his wand at Harry's head and left him trying to pull his short hair out far enough to look at it.

"It's blond," Ginny confirmed. "It really doesn't look good on you, Harry."

"Great," he muttered.

Snape made an irritated sound, heaved his backpack over his shoulder, and held out an arm.

"Unless you have any further primping to do, I suggest we go."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look, then gripped Snape's arm. He Disapparated.

They appeared in the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, in front of the brick wall. Snape, shrugging out of their grasp, tapped the brick with his wand and stood back as the wall rearranged itself.

Diagon Alley was… different. And yet it was the same. Shops Harry knew and loved lined the street to either side, but the glimpses he caught of the witches and wizards inside were strange, too young and yet still vaguely familiar. Most of the shops were closing now, with darkness falling, and the few witches and wizards still out in the alley looked nervous and harried, as everyone had during the war. But this _was_ a war, of course. Voldemort was as powerful now as he had been in Harry's sixth year, when Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was the only bright point to be seen. Now, there wasn't even that.

With a happy jolt, he realized Fred and George must be babies now. Less than a year old. Fred was alive, and Fred was going to have a good, long life, a happy life, and George was not going to lose an ear.

Harry didn't know if Snape was going to be on board with that plan, but he could see from the way Ginny's eyes settled over the dingy-looking shop occupying the space Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes one day would that she was thinking the same thing. There was a determined fire in her eyes when she looked back at him. They didn't need to say anything. They both knew what they had to do.

Snape stopped by a stand where a wizard was selling newspapers as well as various dubious-looking protective charms. Snape bought copies of the _Prophet_ for the last four days, tucked them into his robes, and led Harry and Ginny back to the Leaky Cauldron. To Harry's surprise, he led them straight into the pub.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he whispered.

Snape gave him a you-dunderhead look. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. Why indeed? He wasn't the Boy Who Lived here. He wasn't even recognizably a Potter. The idea of just being an anonymous teenager out with his anonymous girlfriend and anonymous but extremely intimidating older companion - uncle? - was disconcerting.

They sat down at a corner table, and not one of the dozen or so people in the pub spared them more than a second's glance, except Tom the bartender, who took Snape's decisive order of supper for three and retreated to the kitchen without any signs of curiosity whatsoever.

"Relax, Harry," Ginny whispered. "You'll draw more attention if you don't."

Harry wasn't so sure about that. Everyone in the pub looked a bit nervous, casting tense glances around every time the door opened or the fire flashed green. A pair of goblins who walked in from Diagon Alley got much longer looks than Harry's group had, and a few people even edged their chairs away.

Snape, completely ignoring this (or at least appearing to), pulled out the papers and dropped them one after the other onto the table.

On January 10th:

 _ **Death Eaters Behind Failed Azkaban Escape Attempt**_

 _Suspected Death Eater Severus Snape Released_

On January 11th:

 _ **Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood Accused of Spying for Death Eaters**_

 _Lestrange Brothers Arrested, Sister Bellatrix on the Run_

On January 12th:

 _ **Rookwood and Lestranges Sentenced to Life in Azkaban**_

 _Bellatrix Lestrange Still Missing, Possibly in Hiding With He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_

Then, in the _Evening Prophet:_

 _ **Aurors Uncover Grisly Graves in Grizedale Forest**_

The first article was followed by a photograph of a smashed church, and the headline:

 _ **Giant Attack in Witch-Hanging Town Leaves Nine Muggles Dead**_

And today's paper, January 13th, bore the headline:

 _ **Fiendfyre Sighting in the Hebrides**_

 _Aurors Refuse to Confirm Multiple Deaths_

While the _Evening Prophet,_ only just released, read:

 _ **St. Mungo's Healer Arrested for Murder, Death Eater Loyalties**_

 _Allan Bones Among Several Suspected Victims_

There was silence for several minutes as they all took turns reading the papers. Finally Harry looked up from the last article - the one about Healer Collins - and said, "This has got to be Hermione, right? The 'anonymous tip' -"

"And the tip about Rookwood and the Lestranges, too," Ginny added.

"But what about the tip about the forest?" Harry asked, pulling yesterday's paper toward him. "About the missing bodies -"

"That did not occur in our world," Snape said quietly. "It is possible the bodies were buried there, but the graves were certainly never found. Neither did the giant attack occur, nor a Fiendfyre attack in the Hebrides."

"You think those happened because of Hermione?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"You forget, Potter, that this reality diverged from our own long before your ill-conceived decision to come here. At the very latest, with the passing of the marriage law, but possibly even before that. I agree," Snape said, glancing at the papers in front of Harry, "that Miss Granger is likely responsible for the tips that led to the Death Eaters' capture. But it does not necessarily follow that she is responsible for everything else that has occurred in this world since her arrival."

Harry nodded, considering the array of chaos in front of him. Giants, Inferi, Fiendfyre - how much of this had Hermione been involved in?

"Where would they be now?" Ginny asked. "They're probably together, aren't they, Hermione and Young Snape?"

"Yes," Snape said. "I daresay they will be difficult to find. Miss Granger is certainly capable of hiding herself for months at a time, and I doubt my younger self would be opposed, particularly in light of this wretched law."

"We can check the spots where you camped last year, Harry," Ginny said. "She'd know you'd come looking for her there."

Harry nodded, but he had an odd feeling in his stomach. "She'd also know I'd want to go see my parents."

Snape and Ginny both looked at him. To his surprise, neither of them looked pitying, and neither looked like they disagreed.

"That's true," Ginny said.

"It is likely they would have taken steps to protect Lily," Snape added.

Harry realized, with a strange jolt, that he wasn't the only one desperate to see his mother, and, moreover, that Snape would probably agree to it if he pushed.

"Do you think we could?" he asked.

Snape looked like he was trying to find a reason why they shouldn't, while simultaneously hoping he couldn't think of one.

Apparently he couldn't. "Very well. But it would be unwise to reveal yourself immediately, Potter. It is more likely they will believe you are a Death Eater trick than their son from an alternate reality."

Harry nodded. If someone his age showed up claiming to be his child from an alternate future, he would definitely think it was a trick.

"I'll keep the hair," he said, to Ginny's obvious disappointment. "And you should probably just call me 'Harry,' not 'Potter.'"

Snape winced, but nodded. "And I daresay using the Weasley name would be unwise as well."

Ginny shrugged. "There's loads of us. We're never really sure how many. It's probably more suspicious if you claim I'm not a Weasley, honestly."

Harry and Snape snorted at the same time, then hastily cleared their throats.

"You will be sharing Potter's - that is, Harry's surname now," Snape reminded her after a moment. "As you are married."

Ginny looked thoughtful. "We should pick a good name."

Harry thought of the time when he had told the Snatchers his surname was Dudley, and refrained from saying it.

"Harry Horntail?" Ginny offered.

"Ginny!"

"It's better than Harry Hippogriff."

Harry flushed. "How about Peverell? They were my ancestors, weren't they?"

"Are you sure? Because Harry Harpy has a nice ring -"

"Peverell will do," Snape said.

"I guess it might be fun," Ginny conceded. "I mean... imagine the look on Dumbledore's face."


	27. Chapter 27

27

The delicate clicking and whirring of the instruments Dumbledore had acquired over the span of his sometimes wearyingly long life was usually a gentle, humming comfort in the background of his mind. It was rare that the noises registered as anything but a sense of home, and in those few instances when they did, Dumbledore knew something was wrong.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since Hermione Granger and Severus Snape had disappeared through his fireplace, and in each of those hours the clicking and whirring had seemed to grow louder and louder, increasingly discordant and, to his great dismay, annoying.

Even the occasional click of Fawkes's talons on his perch made the old wizard's shoulders tense.

It would have been a simple matter to silence the instruments. It would have been a simple matter to get up and leave, to retreat to the silence of his bedchamber or the cold windy rush of a mid-January night. Outside, the stars were twinkling, vivid and bright in the winter-darkened sky, but Dumbledore did not give in to the temptation to go out and join them.

When the instruments annoyed him, it meant he was annoyed with himself.

 _Annoyed_ was perhaps the wrong word. But Dumbledore had not yet managed to stumble on the right one. He was furious that the two teenagers had stolen the diary, and both alarmed and elated at the prospect of what the diary might mean. He was frustrated that Granger and Snape had refused to cooperate with him. He was impatient to investigate his suspicions.

None of these accounted for the grating of the usually so delicate sounds around him. It was not fury or alarm, elation or frustration, or even impatience that filled him with the urge to silence the innocent instruments forever.

He suspected Alastor Moody could have named the emotion for him. Moody had given him a long, meaningful look after the flashing green had faded from the flames in the fireplace. Dumbledore had been in no mood to talk then, but he suspected that he might not be sitting awake now if he had.

The meaning of Moody's look was not lost on him, yet he had not yet chosen to examine it. He was perfectly capable of imagining what Moody might have said, but he had not yet chosen to do that, either. There had been more important things to consider: the stolen diary, the possibility of other Horcruxes, the presence of a basilisk in the bowels of the school (which, if it could be found, would exonerate Hagrid), the St. Mungo's Healer who had likely murdered dozens of patients without arousing suspicion, the missing Inferi, the missing giants, the missing traitor Peter Pettigrew, the Potter's wedding…

In short, he had not had time to consider something as inconsequential as a sullen, prejudiced boy's accusations of mistreatment.

 _I wanted somewhere I could be safe._

Dumbledore stood up, half-inclined to leave his office after all, then stopped, grimaced, and started pacing the room.

Disappointment. That was the word for what Dumbledore felt. Beneath his defensiveness (yes, he recognized it for what it was, even as it surged up to drown him), he felt disappointment. The Snape boy's disappointment. Moody's. His own.

And yet, could he have chosen differently? Remus Lupin had every right to an education. He had the right to companionship and friendship. To have refused his parents' application would have been wrong. Dumbledore was certain of that.

And Snape…

Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to picture the boy as he had been when he had first come to Hogwarts. Ugly, unkempt, obviously poor, socially inept, and vicious. Yes, Dumbledore might have inferred that his home life was unpleasant. His mother had been an unpleasant sort of girl, haughty and sullen and low. The Prince family had prided itself on its purity, but it was the sort of purity the Gaunts had achieved, a slovenly, twisted sort of lowness. A few more generations and the Princes might indeed have gone the way of the Gaunts, if Eileen had not shocked her few remaining relatives by getting pregnant by a Muggle and then marrying him.

Now the Princes were gone. Severus Snape's last great-uncle had died while he was in school, childless, and there had ended the name. Slughorn had mentioned to Dumbledore at the time that the boy had asked whether it was possible to change his own name to Prince. Dumbledore had been reminded sharply of Tom Riddle, who so despised his Muggle father's name, and had felt no sympathy whatsoever in explaining that, without any living Princes left to validate the change, it would not have been recognized by the Ministry.

Was it then that he had truly begun to dislike the boy? Perhaps. He had been apprised of other incidents over the years - particularly incidents involving James Potter and Sirius Black - but the enmity had never struck him as more than the usual schoolboy rivalry. He knew that while Snape had been admitted to the hospital wing far more often than the Gryffindor boys, the Gryffindors' injuries were usually more severe when they were admitted - indeed, that Snape had, on multiple occasions, used spells that were forbidden at Hogwarts, and once or twice had used spells Madam Pomfrey had never seen before.

James and Sirius were mischievous. Snape was malicious. More than one professor had described the situation in those terms, maintaining that while the Gryffindors were always playful, Snape was full of a darkness and hatred that was at best repulsive, and in many cases disturbing. He had openly expressed his contempt for Muggle culture, his belief in wizards' superiority, and his interest in the Dark Arts.

All of which had led Dumbledore to conclude, reasonably, he believed, that the boy was destined to join the Death Eaters, and that his classmates should be protected from him.

Of course, Snape had not been the worst of the Slytherins in his class. Avery and Mulciber had attacked Muggleborns, carved the Dark Mark into bathroom stalls, and, on one sickening occasion, practiced curses on a Muggleborn student's cat. Snape, to Dumbledore's knowledge, had never dueled with anyone but James, Sirius, and their friends. His spying and nosiness had never been employed against anyone but them. But Dumbledore knew what those students, James and Sirius in particular, represented to their classmates. They were outspoken against Voldemort, against the Death Eaters' prejudices, against the Ministry's bias against non- or part-humans. They were an inspiration to those who were ready to take a side - the right side - in the war. Their influence had made them very valuable to Dumbledore, and admirable despite their childishness. He had never doubted that Snape's hatred of them was rooted in his admiration for the Dark wizard they opposed.

So it was with reluctance that he considered the words Snape had spat at him last night: _I wanted somewhere I could be safe._ They were not the words of a violent bigot. They were the words of a frightened, bitter, painfully disappointed child.

They disturbed Dumbledore greatly.

He had been inclined, at first, to distrust them. Or, at least, to interpret them differently. They might be the petty complaint of a nosy boy who had endangered himself and expected to receive pity for having done so. But Dumbledore knew, in his heart, that that was not the case. Between the suggestion of abuse at the hands of his father and the loss of control over his magic, Dumbledore was certain Snape had felt what he was saying deeply and acutely. In the last moment before Snape had disappeared into the flames, Dumbledore had thought he saw the glimmer of tears.

The boy had suffered at the hands of his parents. That much was plain. Dumbledore could not imagine that Eileen Prince had been a gentle mother, and perhaps her Muggle husband had been worse. Snape had hoped, perhaps, to find kinder adults at Hogwarts, to be treated well, or at least without unkindness.

Dumbledore did not feel that he had been unkind. Snape had badly violated the privacy of another student, and had suffered the consequences. Sirius's actions had been reprehensible, but Dumbledore did not doubt that Snape would have managed to invade Remus Lupin's privacy even without the hint about the Whomping Willow. He had wanted to expose or perhaps even blackmail an innocent, afflicted boy. Dumbledore, in truth, had been more disturbed that Sirius was willing to risk his friend's secret than that he had been willing to risk Snape's life to protect it.

What was it Snape wanted from him? To have been told he was innocent in the affair? That the goal he had likely harbored all along, the goal of getting Remus Lupin expelled, had been achieved? Or perhaps he had hoped that Sirius and James would be expelled as well? The danger Snape had faced was one he had sought out himself, of his own volition. Dumbledore did not feel that Snape deserved more from him than he had received.

He continued pacing, dissatisfied. What did Snape deserve, then? Did he wish someone had intervened in his home life? Dumbledore had never taken the time to consider the boy's domestic situation before. No professor, not even Slughorn, the boy's Head of House, had mentioned it. His poverty had been obvious, but poverty alone was not cause for concern. Dumbledore suspected the boy had taken trouble to conceal that anything else was amiss.

What then? Did he wish someone had taken a special interest in him at school? He had been a part of Slughorn's Slug Club, had been distinguished for his skill at Potions, had performed extraordinarily well on both his O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T.s. What more could he have asked for?

 _Attention,_ Dumbledore thought impatiently. The boy clearly longed for attention. But Dumbledore did not feel it was his responsibility to lavish it upon him.

The boy, of course, had claimed that it was not attention he wanted. _Safety._ But what safety could he have wished for? James had saved Snape. The boy had never been harmed, and he would never have been in danger in the first place if he had minded his own business.

Dumbledore paused in his stride. _He had never been harmed._ That was not strictly true, was it?

With a decisive step, Dumbledore left his office and the whirring instruments behind. He missed their gentle clicking as he strode down cold, empty corridors, his footsteps the only sound.

Madam Pomfrey was surprised at his knock, even more so when she realized there was no student with him.

"Headmaster! Are you unwell?"

"Not at all, Poppy, not at all. I need to examine the records of a former student."

Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows shot up. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had every right to access the records of current students, but he knew perfectly well he was overstepping his bounds in requesting to view those of a former student.

Madam Pomfrey, however, though very argumentative about her patients' health, trusted Dumbledore implicitly, and did not ask for a reason. "Which student's?"

"Severus Snape."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips as she led him to her cabinet of student files. Dumbledore knew that she, for one, had not been fond of James Potter or Sirius Black, precisely because of the frequency with which she had to treat their - Dumbledore hesitated over the word she had so often used - victim.

Severus Snape's file was unpleasantly thick.

Madam Pomfrey watched him take it with an expression not unlike that Madam Pince wore when allowing him to check out a book. "Is there anything else you need, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "In your opinion, was Severus Snape bullied?"

Madam Pomfrey stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, a moment in which he almost wondered if her trust in him were wavering. Then she crossed her arms. "I think _that,_ " she said, her gaze sinking to the file, "will answer your question, professor."

* * *

Having breakfast with Snape and Ginny was one of the stranger experiences of Harry's life. They sat at their corner table in the Leaky Cauldron, wide-awake and wary of the handful of other patrons, most of whom seemed equally wary of them. Snape had unfolded the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet_ ("Hunt for Bellatrix Lestrange Continues"), and was pointedly ignoring Ginny's occasional mischievous glances at Harry, as well as Harry's irrepressible blush.

It didn't help that Snape hadn't hesitated in the slightest to acquiesce to Ginny's request that she and Harry share a room. He had told them not to get pregnant, and had shut the door of his own room in their faces. If it had been Sirius or Remus, Harry would have been able to grin through his embarrassment, but with Snape it was all mildly horrifying.

"I've been thinking," Harry said, eyeing Snape over his newspaper and remembering how Uncle Vernon used to react when he was interrupted.

Snape merely raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"About other ways we could get in touch with Hermione," he said. "I know she doesn't have the Galleon anymore, but an owl might -"

"Miss Granger will have warded against owls," Snape said, not looking up from the paper.

"What about -"

"Potter." Snape raised dark eyes to stare at him. "Do you really think I have not considered all the options?"

"What about a Patronus?" Harry persisted.

"Messenger Patronuses should only be used in an emergency," Snape said.

"Tonks used one after Malfoy broke my nose," Harry pointed out.

"Tonks was not known for her caution. Perhaps if she had been less eager..." He trailed off.

Harry glared at him. "She'd still be alive?"

"Eagerness wasn't the problem," Ginny said. "She tripped and fell into a curse."

Harry winced. He hadn't known that. Nor, judging by his expression, had Snape. He looked torn between the desire to make a sarcastic remark (and Harry was certain the man had already thought of several) and regret that the subject had arisen at all.

"A messenger Patronus," he said, slipping into the lecture tone Harry hated (and which, he suspected, Hermione rather liked), "should only be used when one is certain of the recipient's circumstances - as when I used my Patronus to lead you to the sword of Gryffindor - or when the consequences of _not_ sending a Patronus are more dire than those of a Patronus being received under undesirable circumstances."

"Like when Kingsley warned us about the Ministry," Ginny said.

"Correct."

Harry frowned. "But surely the consequences of not finding Hermione -"

"You are not thinking, Potter," Snape said impatiently. "Imagine how inconvenient it would have been had someone chosen to send you a messenger Patronus during your break-in at the Ministry."

Harry imagined the look on Umbridge's face if a strange Patronus had burst into the courtroom during her anti-Muggleborn trials, and silently conceded that Snape had a point.

"But Hermione won't have to break into the Ministry," Ginny said. "The locket's not there yet."

"No," Snape agreed, "but the diary was likely confiscated from Malfoy Manor, and is probably in the Auror Department's possession."

Ginny flinched.

"All right," Harry said, "no Patronus. So we have to look for her the hard way?"

Snape nodded, returning to his paper. "Beginning with Cokeworth."

* * *

Harry recognized the playground immediately. Even in the gray dawn, under a thin dusting of snow, the swing was unmistakable, and he could see in his mind's eye Snape's memory of sunlight pouring over Lily's bright hair as she swung higher and higher and up into the air. Somehow the sight of it, empty and cold, filled him with a deep unease and desperation that only grew as he looked around at the shabby streets surrounding it.

Snape was staring at the swing as well, and he looked, if possible, even more nervous than Harry. His usually unhappy expression was lit with something strange and unsettling, something between hope and sheer terror.

Ginny, on the other hand, was looking around with great curiosity. "Your mum lives here?"

"No," Snape said. "This way."

He led them down one of the nicer streets, which led to a nicer one again. The houses weren't as neat or tidy as those on Privet Drive, though of a similar size and quality. Harry had the feeling this neighborhood, though equally wealthy, would have been a much friendlier place to grow up. There were no obsessively compartmentalized gardens, no neighbors peering nosily out at the three strangers wandering down the street in the winter dawn. A few small, sloppy snowmen had been piled together out of the meager snowfall, and Harry imagined with a small smile Aunt Petunia's horror if she had seen their dirty leering faces peering out of a neighbor's yard. Then he remembered that Petunia _would_ have seen them, because she still lived here, didn't she?

Snape stopped quite suddenly. Harry looked around at the houses to either side, trying to determine which one was his mum's, but Snape was staring straight ahead.

"Wards," he said, raising his wand.

Harry was surprised. Of course, he should have known his mum would have wards, but the idea that she was already in enough danger to feel like she needed them made his stomach lurch.

"Miss Granger set one of these," Snape said.

Harry started. "She did? Are you sure?"

Snape didn't bother answering that. After another minute or so, he said, "Moody set the rest. Lily is well protected. We will not be able to pass this point without raising an alarm, perhaps a response from the Order."

"But that's all right, isn't it?" Harry said, eager to see other Order members, as well.

"I don't know," Ginny said. "We can't really explain what we're doing here, can we?"

"We could say we're looking for Hermione," Harry said hastily. "Can't we?"

Snape didn't answer for a moment. Harry could tell he wanted to go through the wards as much as Harry did. When he spoke, it was with slow reluctance.

"It is possible that Miss Granger set these wards without their knowledge. She may have come here, discovered Moody's wards, noted their deficiencies, and decided to correct them, without ever speaking with Lily."

"But how will we know without checking?"

Snape was again hesitant. "Lily would not have welcomed me here," he said. "And I do not believe Miss Granger would have passed through these wards without me - without my younger self."

Harry knew he was probably right, but the idea of being this close to his mother and not seeing her was physically painful. "We could still -"

"If the Order concludes that we are Death Eater spies, we may lose any chance of finding Miss Granger."

"You can't break through them without setting off the alarm?" Ginny asked.

"Not without dismantling them entirely," Snape said. Still, he raised his wand again, feeling along the invisible wards in a way that reminded Harry strongly of Dumbledore, and how he had felt along Riddle's wards that last night in the cave.

"Blood!" Harry blurted suddenly.

Snape and Ginny both looked at him, alarmed.

"I have my mother's blood!" Harry said, full of excitement. "I'm part of her family, shouldn't I be able to -"

"- go through alone?" Ginny asked, frowning at him.

"I don't think my mum would attack me," Harry said impatiently. He looked at Snape. "Could I get through?"

Snape looked even more reluctant at this, but he slid his wand over the wards a third time. "Yes," he said finally. "Moody made allowances for wizards and witches with the Evans blood. I daresay he was anticipating the possibility of children."

Harry's heart fluttered in excitement. "So I can go through?"

"Is that really a good idea?" Ginny asked.

Snape's lips thinned as he considered it. "I assume you brought your Invisibility Cloak, Potter."

"Yeah," Harry said, sliding his backpack off one shoulder and rummaging through it. "It's right here."

Snape hesitated again, glancing up the street before looking back at Harry. "Very well."

Ginny frowned. "But -"

"I think the danger is minimal, Miss Weasley. In the unlikely event that Lily does become aware of Potter's presence, he is more than capable of defending himself. Lily is not a talented duelist."

Ginny looked surprised at that. Harry frowned. "I wouldn't duel her. Anyway, she won't see me." _But I'll see her,_ he thought, his heart pounding.

He knew Snape knew what was going through his head, even without Legilimency. There were traces of jealousy all over his face, though for once Harry couldn't see any bitterness. He could hardly believe Snape was going to let him go in alone.

"We shall await you at the playground," Snape said. "The neighbors will become suspicious if we wait here."

Harry nodded. "See you soon."

Then, with a last glance around to make sure there weren't any suspicious neighbors already watching, he slid the Cloak around his shoulders and over his head. He felt a tingle around him as he stepped through the wards, and a sort of feathery yielding sensation, like he had just walked through a spiderweb. Then he was on the other side.

"I'm through," he said.

Snape nodded, frowning. Ginny said, "Good luck."

"Thanks." Harry turned away, then glanced back again. "Er, which house is it?"

"Number seventeen," Snape replied, with an eye roll.

Harry nodded, even though Snape couldn't see him, and started off down the street again.

This was the street where his mother had grown up. This was where she had played, where she had walked to primary school, where she had skinned her knees and learned to ride a bike and picked flowers from the neighbors' gardens. Maybe she had made snowmen, too, or had snowball fights with a shrieking and outraged Petunia.

Maybe, Harry thought, she would have brought him here to visit his grandparents after he was born. Maybe he had even been here before, and didn't know it.

But his grandparents, he realized with a jolt, had been dead before that night in Godric's Hollow. Somehow, in the next two and a half years, they would die (if they weren't dead already). Otherwise, why wouldn't Dumbledore have left him with them, instead of the Dursleys?

Harry realized, with a twinge of shock and guilt, that he had no idea how or when his grandparents had died - neither his mother's parents, nor his father's. Would Snape know? Would he help them?

 _Yes,_ Harry thought, _of course he would._ If he could, at least. If they had been sick, or something, maybe there wasn't anything anyone could do.

Harry tried to shake the panicked thoughts away. There was Number 21… 19…

Harry stopped, staring at Number 17. There was a string of scattered Christmas lights dangling from the roof, sprinkled with snow. Even in the middle of winter, Harry could see that the garden must usually be full of a vast number of flowers in the spring and summer. Carefully, he slid the gate open, grateful that there were already several sets of footprints in the snow to hide his own. So Lily had company? Or did Petunia?

Harry crept toward the house, his Invisibility Cloak clutched around him. He could see lights on, and people - a middle-aged woman with graying red hair - _his grandmother._

She was smiling. He remembered her face vividly, though it had been seven years since he'd seen it in the Mirror of Erised. She looked kind and very happy.

A much younger woman was there, as well, and Harry realized with a start that it was Alice Longbottom. Was she Longbottom yet? Surely yes, with the law. She looked young and playful, her blond hair not wispy as in Harry's world, but thick and shiny. She had her wand raised, and little white blossoms were curling out of its tip to settle on -

Lily.

She was standing in the middle of the room, in a dramatic white wedding dress, with her hair in braids and Alice's flowers slowly settling among them. Even as Harry watched, the flowers got bigger and bigger and bigger until Lily batted at them, glaring at Alice, while Alice collapsed in a chair, giggling.

This wasn't the wedding day. Harry could see bits and pieces of white fabric of all types scattered around the room, discarded hair ornaments, jewelry, even various white shoes. They were trying to plan out the wedding dress, and by the looks of things, Alice wasn't taking it very seriously. Lily, on the other hand, was. She stomped her foot, saying something in a harried manner to Alice, who only laughed harder. Harry's grandmother must have said something soothing, because Lily relaxed slightly, rolled her eyes, and offered up a reluctant smile, although she determinedly yanked the absurdly large flowers out of her hair.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off her. More than the shocked happiness of seeing her in her wedding dress, of seeing her laughing and smiling and glaring and _living,_ Harry was struck with the startled realization of how very, very young she was. He remembered the birth date he had seen on her gravestone back in Godric's Hollow. She wasn't even nineteen yet now. She was eighteen, like him. And here she was getting married.

He remembered all the half-joking conversations he and Ginny had had on the subject. Neither of them was remotely ready to get married, even though they both were pretty sure they wanted to marry each other. Yet here his mum was, getting married at their age, and not just because of the law, Harry knew - she had been married at eighteen in his world, too. Why? Why had she rushed into it? Was it what Mrs. Weasley had said, that everyone rushed into these things during a war? Was his mother simply that much more mature than Ginny and him? Or did she not understand how incredibly young she really was?

If she and his dad hadn't gotten married so soon in Harry's world, would they have lived longer? There would have been no Harry, no prophecy - or if there had been a prophecy, it would have been about Neville. But here was Alice, too, the same age as his mum, and already married - Harry could see the ring on her finger now. They were so _young!_

Harry shook his head. There were so many things he wanted to ask them, all of them, but most especially his mum and dad. He wanted to know what they were like, what they were thinking, who they were. He wanted to know everything.

Lily's mother said something to Alice, and she, with an obvious struggle to be serious, raised her wand again. Little lilies sprouted from her wand and slid into the back of Lily's braids. Lily, turning this way and that in front of a mirror, looked immensely relieved. Her mother looked delighted. Alice rolled her eyes behind their backs, with a very smug expression. Harry had the feeling she had known all along what would make the others happy, but had been enjoying herself too much to speed things along.

Lily's mother disappeared, and returned with a bouquet, which Lily took with great solemnity. She was beautiful, draped in gold and white, but she was so, so young. Harry's eyes burned when he remembered the photos in the album Hagrid had given him, the only memory of this wedding that had survived in his world. Would it be the same here, in this other time of another world? Could Lily and James actually live to share their wedding pictures with their children themselves?

Harry's cloaked face was almost pressed to the window now. He knew he would have to cover up his tracks in the snow so they didn't know someone had been standing there watching, but he could barely think of it now. They were still fiddling with Lily's hair, rearranging little strands here and there. Suddenly they all moved in a determined group out of the room, maybe to find some other ornament or comb or something. Harry blinked. The room seemed so empty without them, strewn with the discarded pieces that would never make it to the wedding. In a box by the fireplace, Harry could see stacks of cards with various styles of writing on them. He couldn't be sure from this distance, but he thought they might be invitations - or samples of invitations, at least, maybe the ones Lily hadn't liked.

Harry glanced nervously at the doorway of the room. The three women hadn't returned. Quickly, without giving himself time to think about it too much, Harry slid out his wand, pointed it at the box, and whispered, " _Accio invitation!_ "

The papers in the box quivered. A single square - the one Harry had been pointing at - shot out of the box, squeezed its way through the edge of the locked window, and into Harry's hand.

The ink was a flashing rainbow of shifting colors, the letters large and childlike. Harry had the feeling Alice had been involved in the invitation-making, as well. But there it was:

 _ **Lily & James**_

 _Please join us as we celebrate the marriage of_

 _Lily Jane Evans_

 _and_

 _James Fleamont Potter_

 _on Friday, January 19, 1979 at 11 o'clock_

 _in Godric's Hollow Church_

Harry stared at it, his heart pounding strangely. His parents would be married in the church beside the graveyard where they had been buried, near the statue that had been built for them, near the house where they had died.

 _It won't happen,_ he told himself, trembling. _We'll stop it. I'll stop it._

The three women had returned to the room, but Harry barely looked at them. He couldn't spend his time watching his mother prepare for her wedding. He had to make sure she survived it.

* * *

Miss Weasley had brushed the snow off the swing with a wave of her wand and seated herself exactly where Lily always had, but with far less energy. Lily had never been able to sit still on the swing, too eager to soar up and test out her magic. Miss Weasley's gaze was fixed on the street Potter would walk down, her entire posture tense and unhappy.

Severus supposed he couldn't blame her. He knew Miss Granger's friendship with the Boy Who Lived was an inexhaustible source of anxiety for her. Dating the idiot boy could only be worse.

Then again, she had only herself to blame for _that._

"Why did you like her?" the girl asked suddenly.

He stared at her, not comprehending.

"Lily," she said, finally tearing her gaze away from the street to look at him. "Why did you like her?"

Severus continued staring at her, with a warning in his eyes.

The wretched Weasley girl was not deterred. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she frowned at him. "You said she can't duel."

His eyes narrowed. "And?"

" _And,_ " she said, still frowning, "I would've thought you'd like someone a bit more… fierce."

Severus wasn't sure how to respond to this. The idea that the Weasley girl had spent any time whatsoever contemplating the type of woman he would like was deeply discomfiting.

"I know she's pretty," the girl said, in a tone that implied her opinion of his shallowness (or perhaps men's shallowness in general). "But what else is she?"

"She was the brightest witch in our year."

"You liked her before Hogwarts, though."

Severus scowled at her. "I fail to see how this is your concern."

Miss Weasley shrugged. "She'll be my mother-in-law someday."

The idea of Lily as anyone's mother-in-law was disturbing.

"She was kind," he said, although that was as insufficient a description as "bright."

Miss Weasley evidently thought so, too. "Did you just like her because she was a girl?"

He snorted. "Her sister was also a girl. I assure you, I did not like her."

Miss Weasley wrinkled her nose. Evidently Potter had mentioned his aunt to her. "Petunia was a Muggle, though."

"My, my, Miss Weasley. Dismissing a girl for being a Muggle. What would your father say?"

"I didn't say I would dismiss her, I said you would."

Severus didn't deny it. In fact, the Weasley girl was closer to the truth than he would have liked. Lily had been the first witch, other than his mother, that he had ever met. And his mother had hardly counted; his father had not allowed her to use magic, had in fact snapped her wand when the opportunity arose. Magic, in Severus's early childhood, had been fraught with anger and fear and, on his mother's part, shame.

And then there had been Lily, flying off the swing.

"Do you think you would have been happy if she had picked you?" the Weasley girl asked.

Severus leveled her with a deadly glare. She showed no signs whatsoever of being intimidated. Hardly surprising. Even when she had thought he was a murderous Death Eater, the foolish girl had never flinched.

"She probably wanted babies," Miss Weasley continued.

Severus flushed deeply. Yes, Lily had wanted children. She had talked about it even when _they_ were children. Severus had never understood the appeal, but he would have been willing to…

But that would never happen. Not with any woman. Not now.

 _Thank Merlin,_ he thought, somewhat forcefully. There was a hollowness in his gut, but he would not regret it now.

"I dislike children," he said flatly.

"So you wouldn't have been happy," the irritating girl deduced.

"This entire conversation is irrelevant," he replied. "She would never have 'picked' me, as you put it. She never even considered me."

"You must have thought about it, though. What it would be like if she did. Pick you, I mean."

Oddly, he hadn't. He had thought about kissing her, of course, and might have had some vague nebulous inexperienced longing for what might follow, but he had never imagined a future with her; he had only imagined that she would be in it.

He had been very young.

"Do you think Potter imagines his future with you?" he asked without thinking. He could have bitten his tongue out for it. The idea of listening to details of the Weasley girl's hopes for the boy was thoroughly revolting.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I mean, we've talked about it."

Severus snorted. "No doubt because you forced him to."

"Sometimes," she said mildly, "but I know he's thought about it, too. Especially after Dumbledore died."

Severus flinched.

"Because he broke up with me then," she clarified. "To protect me. I know he thought about what he was giving up."

Severus considered that. He hadn't known that Potter had broken up with her, although he himself had certainly gone to some lengths in the following year to ensure the Death Eaters never learned that she and Potter had been an item. The idea that Potter had considered what he would be sacrificing rather surprised him. This was the boy who had walked straight into Voldemort's clutches and allowed himself to be cursed without so much as raising a wand to defend himself.

It had never occurred to him that Potter had approached the matter with any thought other than of its heroism. He felt a flash of horror that the boy might actually have knowingly sacrificed all the world might have offered him, Ginevra Weasley included.

"I knew it was impossible," Severus said finally. "Considering the details would have been foolish."

"I used to think being with Harry was impossible," Miss Weasley said, "but I still thought about the details all the time."

"That was because you were a silly little girl."

She snorted. "You were a silly little boy."

He sneered. "No doubt. But boys are not raised to fantasize about their weddings, and domestic bliss was never something I considered possible, in my imagination or out of it. _You_ were raised by Molly Weasley, who had been waiting nearly a decade to give birth to a girl. I have no doubt weddings and offspring were preached to you at a very early age indeed."

"In the womb," Miss Weasley agreed, with a grimace.

Severus could imagine very well the kinds of things his mother had thought about him when he was in her womb, first among them that she wished he weren't. "I daresay Potter was taught to anticipate domestic felicity as well."

Miss Weasley gave him a disbelieving look. "You're joking, aren't you?"

He stared at her.

"Surely you saw -" she said, looking angry now, "when you were in his head - when you taught him Occlumency -"

Severus frowned at her. "Saw what?"

Miss Weasley stared at him. "Saw what they were like."

Severus's frown deepened. "I seem to recall seeing a fat aunt allowing her dog to chase him up a tree."

"You didn't see -" Miss Weasley cut off suddenly, as if catching herself. "Maybe he _was_ Occluding, and you just didn't know it."

"Occluding _what,_ precisely?" Severus asked, feeling more baffled than anything.

The girl stared at him for a long time. "You should ask Harry about it."

"About _what?_ "

"The domestic _bliss_ you think he was raised in!" she snapped, before shutting her mouth and glaring back down the street again.

Severus stared at her, racking his brain for any memory of Potter's that would account for this. He had seen scattered glimpses of a fat, stupid-looking boy who was probably the cousin, but nothing that would account for the expression on the Weasley girl's face, which usually presaged the Bat Bogey Hex or worse.

"Are you suggesting they mistreated him?" he asked, still mostly disbelieving.

Ginny Weasley said nothing for long moments, but there were tears - angry tears, he thought - in her eyes.

"He wouldn't want me to tell you about it," she said finally.

Severus felt cold cracking and scraping inside him like ice.

"Most of what I know, I know from Hermione," she added. "And from Fred and George, they saw some of it when they went to get him before my first year."

"What did they see?" Severus asked very quietly.

"Ask Harry," she said again. "Someone should have, a long time ago. Dumbledore should have."

Severus felt, in his chest, an old bitterness rise, a bitterness he thought he had forgotten. After everything that had happened, his childhood could hardly seem important, and yet the resentment that tensed his jaw refused to be calmed.

"Dumbledore loved Potter," he said finally, bitterly.

Ginny shrugged, equally bitter. "Not as much as he needed him to win the war."


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: I am so sorry about the delay. To those who reached out to check on me - thank you so much, it was definitely appreciated. My grandmother died a couple of weeks ago, and right afterward I was selected as a juror on a messy, crazy case, with the result that my head has not at all been in the right space for writing. I wanted to get an update out to you all today, but I'm not sure how regularly I'll be updating in the next couple of weeks - I'll be traveling for the memorial service this coming week, and it might take a bit before my head's back to normal after that. Thank you very much for your patience, and as always thank you for reading.

* * *

28

The day after their adventures in the Hebrides, Hermione and Severus slept. They were both exhilarated, ready to take on Voldemort and the Ministry and Dumbledore and everyone else, and yet too exhausted to keep their eyes open. So they slept, and ate, and, right in the middle of planning their next mission, fell asleep again.

When Hermione woke up, a new dawn was filtering through the canvas roof of the tent, cold and white and golden. Hermione slid off her bunk, careful not to wake Severus, who was sprawled out like a bat again, or Dobby, who was curled up under Lucius Malfoy's old robes and the heaps of blankets Hermione had given him. Creeping out into the mid-January morning, she felt a soft, happy, hopeful feeling as she watched the first rays of rich sunlight slip through the trees to sparkle on the snow all around her.

For the first time since she had come to this dreadful world, she didn't feel the desperate ache to leave it.

Not that she didn't want to go home. She did, of course. She wanted to curl up in her childhood bedroom and cuddle with Crookshanks and have her mum bring her a cup of steaming tea while the snowy sunlight bathed her warm blankets and made their faces glow.

But she couldn't help feeling that it was just as nice when, a moment later, Severus slipped through the tent flap and offered her the longed-for cup of tea, seating himself beside her on the bench she had Conjured and surveying the sunny clearing with a half-suspicious, half-appreciative air, as if he was wondering what she was out here staring at, even as he started staring at it, too.

"It's a lovely morning," she said lamely.

She thought for a moment that he wasn't going to respond to such an inane comment, but after a few seconds he said, "I forgot how pleasant the cold can be."

She looked at him. He was talking about Azkaban, she knew; about the terrible, soul-draining cold of the Dementors. "How long were you there?"

He shrugged. "A few months."

Hermione shuddered. She didn't know what to say, so she watched him, wondering if he would say more. He looked very pale, but either the sun or the cold had lent some color to his face that she had rarely ever seen. She remembered sitting with her Snape in the coffee shop, discussing their research, while pale city sunlight crept in through the windows, but this was different. She was noticing him now, the pale jutting cheekbones, the gaunt shadowy cheeks, the tired purple under his eyes.

She had never looked at her Snape like this. He would never have allowed it.

Severus was becoming less and less pale by the minute, but he didn't glare or snap at her, though he did shoot her a sideways glance, the dark of his eyes the only feature untouched by the sunlight. She suddenly thought about what it would be like when she left this world, and left him behind, and felt a wrenching sadness.

A shuffle behind them made them turn quickly, but it was only Dobby, poking his head out while being careful not to step out onto the snow.

"Good morning, Dobby," Hermione said.

"Good morning, miss!" Dobby's ears twitched. "Dobby is needing to speak with Hermione Granger and Severus Snape." He sounded grave.

They arched their brows at each other, and followed him back inside, where he nervously led them over to the kitchen. With a very grave look, he swung open the pantry door and said, "Dobby is wanting to make breakfast, but there is no food!"

Hermione glanced inside. It was rather bare. She and Severus had been eating mostly pre-made Muggle food, although Dobby had insisted on making the last few meals (after informing her, with much ear-wringing and finger-biting, that her cooking was "not really edible, miss"). Severus had made soup a few times, but Dobby didn't think that was sufficient.

"Dobby learned to make seven thousand five hundred and thirty-two recipes for the Malfoys!" he told them. "And Dobby was never allowed to try any of them! Dobby would like to try them now, miss, but there is no ingredients!"

"Well, why don't you write us a list, and we'll see what we can find?" Hermione said kindly.

"Dobby is not knowing how to write, miss."

Hermione was scandalized. "But you know how to _read?_ "

"No, miss," Dobby said, hanging his head. "House-elves is not needing to know how to read."

"But Kreacher -" she began, then caught herself. Dobby didn't need to know she knew Kreacher. "Well," she said, determinedly, "I'll teach you how to read, Dobby."

"Thank you, miss!" Dobby grinned, then his ears drooped. "But first Dobby and his friends will need to eat."

Ten minutes later, Hermione and Severus left the tent, Hermione clutching the list Dobby had dictated to her. Severus waited until after they had Apparated to the outskirts of a Muggle town to say, "You realize he was trying to get us out of the way?"

Hermione nodded. "To report to Moody, I suppose."

"Or to search the tent. They don't know we destroyed the Horcruxes, remember."

"Then it's probably lucky I left a list of every Death Eater I could think of lying under my pillow, isn't it?"

Severus smirked. "And let us hope he doesn't forget to search under the couch cushions. I would hate for him to miss the note about certain illegal Animagi…"

Grinning, they strode off toward the supermarket, more than willing to take their time.

* * *

"Animagi?" Moody gaped at the note in his hand. " _Animagi?_ "

Dobby, who could not read, but who had recognized the significance of notes hidden under cushions and pillows, gazed up at him in confusion.

"Those little -" Moody growled, slapping the piece of parchment down on the table. He would have finished his sentence, but he thought cursing in front of the elf might be rude.

The elf, for his part, looked slightly alarmed: he was twisting his ears. "Is Auror Moody angry with Hermione Granger and Severus Snape?"

"Not with them." Moody stared at the scribbled note, written in Snape's cramped handwriting - he recognized it from the scraps of Dark Arts books they'd pulled out of the wreckage of his house. The boy wrote on everything.

And here, he had written in a hasty, possibly angry series of inkblots and spiky letters:

 _ **Potter - stag**_

 _ **Black - dog**_

 _ **Pettigrew - rat - WORMTAIL**_

 _ **Animagi to help Lupin transform, escape Shack**_

It was astounding. It was _infuriating._ If it was true - if those brats had kept this a secret -

Moody shoved the note back at Dobby, then took one last glance at the list of Death Eaters. Useful, that. So useful he wondered if they'd left it out on purpose. Seemed an odd thing for the girl to keep under her pillow, although judging from the way she'd crossed out the names _Augustus Rookwood, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange,_ and _Healer Collins,_ she seemed to be keeping track of her progress.

Making a quick copy of the page, he returned it to Dobby, as well. "Put those back where you found them."

"Yes, sir."

"You're sure you didn't see the diary? Or anything else like it? Any other Dark object?"

Dobby shook his head.

"Must be in that damned bag of hers, then," Moody muttered. He'd already warned Dobby about trying to access its contents. Robards had said its defenses were pretty nasty. "That's all right. This is great, Dobby. Very useful stuff."

Dobby perked up a bit.

"Oh," Moody said, "one more thing." He rummaged around in a drawer and drew out a thick, ornate square of parchment. "Why don't you tell them an owl dropped this off?"

* * *

Severus and Hermione were grinning when they Apparated back to the tent around noon. They had been gone for hours - in part because they had wanted to give Dobby plenty of time, in part because the list he had given them was absurdly long, and in part because they had stopped at a bookstore to find children's books to help him learn how to read. While they browsed, Severus had managed to coax a few more embarrassing stories out of Hermione. He had particularly enjoyed her use of cat hair in conjunction with Polyjuice.

"I didn't know!" she cried, half-laughing, half-cringing, her face bright red at the memory of its coat of fur.

"Hermione, cat hair doesn't look remotely like human hair -"

"I was thirteen!"

"- and I believe _Moste Potente Potions_ explicitly reminds its readers to be sure to rip hair out by the roots to be absolutely certain of identity -"

"I meant to!" Hermione cried. "But she had me in a headlock!"

"Perhaps you should have tried to put _her_ in a headlock; then you would have had ample access."

Hermione snorted. She had already explained how large Millicent Bulstrode was, and Severus knew full well that she would not have been able to place the girl in a headlock even if she had been half the size. Hermione was good with a wand; she was no Amazon.

"I trust," he said, smirking, "that your friends had the presence of mind to take photographs?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, and he grinned. He was still grinning when they returned to the tent, and despite her best efforts Hermione was grinning, too.

There was no indication that the list beneath Hermione's pillow had been removed, but Severus saw with deep satisfaction that the note he had left had been slightly crumpled, as if someone had clutched it in surprise or (he hoped) anger. He was about to surreptitiously show Hermione when Dobby, finished examining all the food they had bought, handed him a square of parchment and said, "An owl is bringing this while you is away, sir!"

Hermione looked startled - no doubt, Severus thought, because she had warded against owls. Frowning, Severus turned the parchment over and felt his heart drop. For several seconds he stared at it, feeling as if he'd been slapped. Then he handed it to Hermione, and sat down on the couch, squashing his Animagus note.

"Oh!" Hermione's eyes widened as she read the elegant invitation. She glanced quickly at Severus, who looked away.

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she sat down beside him.

"It's not all bad, is it?" she asked quietly. "She wants you to be there -"

"Don't be absurd," he snapped - quietly, though, so the elf wouldn't hear. "Moody gave that to him. I doubt _she_ even knows."

Hermione bit her lip, looking down at the invitation again, where Lily's and Potter's names were intertwined with all sorts of nauseating swirls of ink. "Oh."

He looked away again. What was Moody playing at, anyway? Severus's first, reflexive instinct had been to interpret it as cruelty, but he knew that wasn't Moody's style. Did he want Severus to barge in and ruin the wedding? To declare himself to Lily? Or to sit quietly by while she married another man?

Hermione, perhaps following his thoughts, said, "He knows you'd want to protect her, Severus."

The turmoil inside him stilled immediately. His first, shocked reaction of anger and jealousy disappeared beneath his earlier certainty that the Dark Lord would target them, indeed, that he might even attack them at their wedding.

He looked back at the invitation. "Godric's Hollow. I've never been there, have you?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wet with sadness and fear. "James and Lily were buried in the churchyard."

Severus drew in a sharp breath. "That will _not_ happen."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "Then we'd better go have a look."

* * *

The whirring and clicking of Dumbledore's instruments was not an irritant this evening. Angry, disappointed thoughts raced through his mind, each overtaking the other in a teeming, trampling horde of such force that the little noises of his office barely registered.

The knock, however, did register, and he turned with a cold surge of anger to face the door.

"Enter."

James was first, looking half-baffled, half-eager, as if he thought Dumbledore was about to offer him a secret mission, or perhaps an unexpected reward. Dumbledore would have regarded his enthusiasm fondly a few days ago, but under the present circumstances felt nothing but a cold contempt for the boy's immaturity, and for his own actions, which he knew perfectly well had fully justified the boy's expectations. How often had he heaped praise on this child, in anticipation of his usefulness? How often had he recognized the advantage of all that eagerness?

Then there was Sirius, just as eager, perhaps even hungry; not craving any reward, just an adventure. Life as a fugitive evidently suited him; his eyes were brighter, his smile more mischievous than ever. There was something in his expression that Dumbledore had hitherto interpreted as confidence, but which he now saw was arrogance, profound arrogance, laced with a real, cool conviction of superiority. And that, too, Dumbledore had encouraged, to ensure all ties with the darker Blacks were severed, to keep this boy on his side. More than once he had implied to Sirius, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, that he was better than his family, better than their kind. Better than Slytherins, even.

Remus was the only one who seemed apprehensive. Perhaps he had sensed something from Moody, who followed behind him and shut the door, or perhaps his memories of their school years were still strong enough that a summons to the headmaster's office made him nervous even now. If there had been any doubt in the boy's mind that they were in trouble, it vanished as soon as his gaze met Dumbledore's. He flushed and looked down, though James and Sirius still looked excited.

Dumbledore imagined, for a terrible moment, that this was what Snape must have seen: two arrogant, hungry boys, followed by a better-hearted friend who was too loyal to stop them. And by Pettigrew, of course. Had Pettigrew enjoyed it? Or had he despised them for it? Something had made him turn…

"Sit down," Dumbledore said quietly, and though his tone was perfectly polite, he could see from the doubt flickering across the faces in front of him that James and Sirius had finally begun to understand that they were not here to be praised or trusted.

"I have been reviewing records from your years at this school," Dumbledore said quietly, noting the nervous glances that flickered between them. "And I find that I owe you an apology."

They all looked at him in surprise, while Moody, leaning against the wall behind them, smirked humorlessly.

"It has come to my attention that my treatment of you was appalling and inexcusable. I do not doubt that you will suffer its effects for years to come, and for that I am deeply sorry."

James and Sirius looked completely bewildered. Only Remus, whose worn face had flushed a deep red, seemed to understand where this might be headed.

"Sir," James ventured, "you've always treated us well - better than well -"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, sighing. "It is that to which I am referring."

There was a silence. Moody seemed to enjoy it, but the weight in Dumbledore's chest was still too great. Perhaps in a few years, when these boys had truly become men, better men… But now, he was only tired, and sharply angry.

"I afforded you every privilege," he said, and allowed the cold to cut into his tone. "I made exceptions for you. I made excuses for you. I turned a blind eye to your irresponsibility, your selfishness, your cruelty. I convinced myself that you were in the right, no matter the evidence against you. Indeed, I neglected to examine the evidence at all."

If Dumbledore hadn't been so disappointed, the dread in the faces before him would have been greatly entertaining.

"I made a mistake," he said quietly. "A terrible mistake. Had I seen your behavior for what it was in the beginning, I might have been able to stop it. Your lives and the lives of others might have been very different. Instead, I find myself speaking not with children just learning to test their boundaries, but with young men well-accustomed to breaking them. I only hope that I am not too late."

James and Sirius exchanged a look. The dread was fading from their faces now, replaced with grimaces that bordered on the impertinent.

"This is about Snape, isn't it?" Sirius asked. "Sir."

"In part," Dumbledore said. "Your behavior toward him was abominable, would you not agree?"

Sirius's grimace deepened, but it seemed he had learned his lesson after the encounter with Mrs. Evans; he said nothing.

James, however, asked, "What do you mean, 'in part'? What else did we do?"

"Glad you asked," Moody growled.

The boys twisted in their chairs to look at him. Moody stumped forward, his wooden leg thudding darkly against the stone floor.

"Came by an interesting piece of information today," he said. "Something you three might want to share?"

Dumbledore saw the flush creeping up their cheeks, the nervous way they almost looked at Remus, before catching themselves just in time.

"That's right," Moody said, obviously noticing it, too. "We know."

James and Sirius glanced at each other. "Know what?"

"Know that Pettigrew is a bloody rat, that's what!"

The boys all flinched.

"Didn't think it was worth mentioning, did you? A Death Eater who could sneak into almost any room? Into this castle, into an Order member's home? We don't ward against Animagi because of McGonagall! But you knew that, didn't you?"

The boys hesitated. "We've been keeping an eye out…"

"One of your best friends was spying on you and you didn't notice! We're supposed to trust you to _keep an eye out?_ "

James and Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Remus was still looking at the floor.

"It is also my understanding," Dumbledore said coolly, "that you helped Remus leave the Shrieking Shack during his transformations."

The boys looked shocked - not, Dumbledore could see, in outrage, but in utter astonishment that he had found out.

"We were watching him," James said.

"It was completely safe," Sirius added unconvincingly.

"Our - er - Animagus forms - they're big, you see."

"Then you were certain," Dumbledore said, in his coldest, most disappointed voice, "that there was no risk whatsoever that Mr. Lupin could escape you? There was not the remotest possibility that he might slip out of your grasp? Mr. Lupin, are you of that opinion as well?"

Remus didn't raise his eyes from the floor. His "no" was barely audible, but it was enough. Even James and Sirius looked ashamed.

"We wouldn't have let -"

"As I recall," Dumbledore said, "you quite deliberately _let_ another student walk into danger."

James looked embarrassed, but Sirius had a rebellious look on his face, and, without entirely meaning to, Dumbledore picked the phrase _It was just Snape_ out of the boy's mind.

Dumbledore might not have been so angry, if his thoughts on that occasion hadn't been exactly the same.

"I cannot force you to understand how wrong your actions have been," he said. "Nor can I force you to alter your attitudes now. I can only tell you that I am ashamed of what I have done. I allowed you to believe that the lives of others are negligible. I refused to acknowledge that you targeted and tormented another student, not once, but repeatedly over a period of seven years. I certainly never attempted to stop you. I neglected to instill in you the values which I esteem most highly, either through instruction or through example, and as a result you have grown into unprincipled men. In short, I have failed you. You have my deepest apologies."

The combination of rebellion and shame hadn't faded from the boys' faces. Remus was trembling. Dumbledore sat back, feeling exhausted.

When it had become apparent that the boys had no response to Dumbledore's apology, Moody growled, "Right. You two - Black and Potter - you're with me. We've got to reset the wards around your church. Wouldn't want Wormface or whatever you called him showing up, now would we?"

Looking intensely relieved, James and Sirius jumped out of their chairs and followed Moody out. Remus flinched when the door shut behind them, but didn't look up.

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore offered.

Remus looked up, blinking in some confusion. Dumbledore offered him a small smile, as well as a dish of sweets. Remus hesitated, then took one.

They sat for a few minutes in silence. Remus opened his mouth more than once to speak, but never seemed quite able to. Finally, Dumbledore said, "I think you and I have both stood by and done too little, for far too long, Mr. Lupin."

Not entirely to Dumbledore's surprise, tears sprang to the boy's eyes, though he wiped them hastily away. "I should've -" he began, then stopped.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Remus took another sherbet lemon, then said, "I'm so sorry, sir."

Dumbledore sighed. "We must be careful of our friends, Remus. They can be our greatest strength, our dearest hope of happiness, and yet they can also lead us astray. Particularly friends as charismatic and enchanting as James Potter and," he hesitated for just a moment, watching the boy's face, "Sirius Black."

Remus's cheeks turned pink.

"I will not tell you that they are not worth your friendship," Dumbledore said, "because only you can be the judge of that. But do not sacrifice your ideals for others. If I may say so, there is no mistake more terrible or more irreversible. Even the most extraordinary of men is not worth such a price."

* * *

"All right," Moody growled. "You two stand there, and don't move."

Moody didn't often cast anti-Animagus wards. They were tricky things, and risky: with one Animagus in the Order, and another among the Aurors, there were few situations in which the wards wouldn't be more of a disadvantage than an advantage, particularly as, until now, they had not known that any Death Eater had ever learned the skill.

Now things were different, though. Now they had a rat.

"What are you waiting for?" Black asked, when Moody didn't raise his wand.

"You have somewhere to be?" Moody growled.

"I'm a fugitive, remember?" Black said, obviously proud of it. "I can't be out in the open too long."

Moody rolled his eyes and ignored him, though he had to resist the urge to check his pocket watch himself. There was a clock tower across the square - one minute to midnight. McGonagall wasn't late yet.

Even as he frowned in the waning moonlight, Moody saw a small, feline shadow creeping over the icy square. Ten seconds later, Minerva McGonagall appeared before him.

"Professor Dumbledore said you wanted to see me," she said, clearly curious.

"You're attending this wretched wedding, aren't you?"

Her gaze swept over the church, as well as the two young men standing in front of it. "I am."

"Turns out we're going to have to set Animagus wards around it," Moody said. "This lot," he jerked his thumb at the boys, "have been keeping quite a secret."

McGonagall looked at them again, and this time her eyes widened. "Are you saying -"

"Surprise!" Potter offered with a weak grin.

In a moment, he and Black had transformed, the one a giant dog, the other an enormous stag. Moody would give them this - they hadn't been exaggerating when they'd said they were big. He only hoped Pettigrew wasn't a giant rat.

"Good heavens," McGonagall said, staring. "I - well, I must say I'm impressed -"

"Don't be," Moody said, "they taught Pettigrew, too."

McGonagall's amazed expression turned to one of flat disbelief. "You must be joking. Peter Pettigrew could never have managed the Animagus transformation -"

"He did," Potter said, changing back. "It took ages -"

"- he almost died the first time," Black added. He scowled. "Wish he had, now."

McGonagall still looked incredulous. "He can't have managed a very large form -"

"Rat," Moody growled. "Figures, doesn't it? Anyway, I need you over there with them. I'm going to cast the ward."

McGonagall climbed the steps to the church's doorway and stood in its shadow with Potter and Black.

"Before I cast this," Moody said, "you sure there aren't any other Animagus invites? Evans isn't secretly a butterfly or something?"

"I think Miss Evans could manage more than a butterfly," McGonagall said, sniffing.

"She's not," Potter said. "It's just us."

"Let's hope so," Moody said darkly. "Any Animagus outside these wards tries to get through - well, let's just say it won't end well."

* * *

In the shadow of a stone cross at the peak of the roof, a rat sat frozen, watching half in terror and half in satisfaction as the Auror slowly drew his wards around the church on which he perched.


	29. Chapter 29

29

From the window of the room he shared with Ginny, Harry could see the first glimmers of a cold, golden dawn arcing into the sky beyond the rooftops of Godric's Hollow. Frost sparkled on every tile and brick, sharpening every edge and shadow. Across the square, white ribbons and balloons fluttered and bobbed around the church, while florettes of icy white flowers and warm golden candles lit the path leading up to the door. It should have felt like a glorious, wonderful morning, but Harry felt as brittle as the frost, and he shivered.

There were two inns in Godric's Hollow, both located in the square across from the church: the Golden Lion and the shabby and decidedly Muggle Hollow Inn. The wedding guests were staying at the former, so, naturally, Harry, Ginny, and Snape had taken rooms in the latter. They might have even been able to pass for Muggles, if Snape hadn't refused to keep Fiend out of sight. (Evidently, Snape hadn't realized Muggle inns didn't allow pets.) In Harry's opinion, Snape was being far more irrational about his Kneazle kitten than Hermione had ever been about Crookshanks. They'd already had to Confund the innkeeper twice.

Their days had not been spent at the inn, however. They'd been Apparating around the countryside, searching for any sign of Hermione. Harry couldn't remember every place he, Ron, and Hermione had camped last year, but he could remember more than he had expected to, and they had searched each spot thoroughly, using magic-detecting spells Snape taught them while Fiend sniffed around, mewing in disappointment with each new failure.

Every night, they had returned to the inn, tired and discouraged, where they had spent the last of the day's energy discussing the wedding.

Sometimes, in the moonlight, Harry thought he had glimpsed figures moving in the shadows at the edge of the square. He would have liked to go investigate, but Snape had set strict rules about when they were and were not allowed to wander around, and for the most part they were _not_ allowed - certainly not without his company. Harry might have protested, but he remembered all too well how things had gone the last time he'd been in Godric's Hollow, and he couldn't escape the roiling dread that something terrible was going to happen again.

They had, of course, investigated the church. Layers of wards surrounded it, cast by numerous wands - mostly Moody's, although Dumbledore had cast a charm to prevent house-elf Apparation (Snape thought Hermione had been the inspiration for that). And the night after their arrival a new set of wards had been erected: anti-Animagus spells.

"They know about Pettigrew," Snape had said.

Harry thought he was probably right; moreover, he was certain they had the information from Hermione. Which meant she was in contact with the Order, although, as Snape pointed out, it was possible she had submitted another anonymous tip.

"Do you think she'll be here?" Harry had asked. "At the wedding?"

He could see Snape wanted to believe she would be, but he had only said, "We shall see."

And now, finally, the day was here. The golden dawn and the white frost reminded Harry of his mother's wedding dress, but he couldn't feel excited. What if something went wrong? What if something happened?

"Harry," Ginny said from the bed (it was partly to escape her tantalizing scent that he had gone to the cold window in the first place). "It'll be fine. We have a dozen backup plans."

It was true. If Harry was worried about the wedding, Snape was positively paranoid. He had made them memorize every street in Godric's Hollow, and then he had mapped out escape routes, booby traps, and contingency plans. They had stowed Portkeys and healing potions, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products and even spare wands in various strategic locations around the square and its surrounding streets. Snape had gone so far as to identify a nearby Wizarding house with poor warding that they could break into if they needed to Floo out in an emergency. It was obvious the man was preparing for battle.

Harry could practically hear Ron saying, "He's gone off his rocker," but Ron wasn't there, and for once Harry was glad Snape was there instead.

Perhaps he had gone a bit off his rocker, too.

Ginny was still in the shower when Harry went down to breakfast. Snape was sitting alone at one of the tables, the remains of a breakfast and a half-empty cup of tea in front of him, along with a discarded _Prophet._ Harry could see the faces of three vaguely familiar Death Eaters glaring at him from the front page. Automatically, he glanced around to make sure there were no Muggles to see the moving pictures, but of course there weren't: Harry, Ginny, and Snape were the only guests.

"Miss Granger seems to have turned in a few more Death Eaters," Snape said, with a glance at the _Prophet._ Harry saw the phrase "anonymous tip" and smiled.

"Still no sign of Bellatrix?"

"None." Snape's scowl was tenser than usual, and Harry knew they were thinking the same thing: if the Death Eaters attacked the church today, she would probably be there.

Harry helped himself to toast and sausage, eating quickly and without much appreciation. He felt jittery to the point of nausea, but he knew Snape would say something if he didn't eat. The man was almost as bad as Mrs. Weasley.

He smirked at the thought. Snape, who had apparently been watching him, asked, "Something amusing, Mr… Peverell?"

Harry rolled his eyes, taking a giant bite of sausage so he didn't have to answer. Snape was still peering at him when he had finished chewing, though, so he said, "It's just odd."

"What is?" Snape said, with a trace of exasperation.

"Having an adult around," Harry said. "It used to just be… us. We were kids, you know."

"I do know."

"And now you're here. Looking out for us."

"I was always looking out for you, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "It didn't feel like it."

Snape didn't seem offended. If anything, he looked curious. "And now it does?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, you're the one in charge."

He had half-expected Snape to look smug at that, but the man's expression didn't change. Harry was just about to go back to his breakfast when Snape suddenly asked, "Have you always been in charge, Potter?"

Harry snorted. "I thought you knew that. 'Strutting around with my friends and admirers,' didn't you say something like that? Mind you, Hermione was always the bossy one."

"I meant before," Snape said.

"Before what?"

"Before Hogwarts."

Harry was beginning to wish he had given his breakfast more attention. "Was I in charge before Hogwarts?"

"Did anyone look out for you?" Snape clarified.

Harry flushed. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having. Where was Ginny? She usually didn't take so long…

"I will take that as a 'no,'" Snape said.

Harry shrugged. "It was the same for you, wasn't it?"

He thought that might get Snape to drop the subject, but he was wrong. Snape's voice turned cold and flat, and his eyes glinted. "I sincerely hope it was not as bad for you as it was for me, Potter, and if it was then the first thing I'll do when we return to our own world is hunt your wretched aunt down and drop her into a sewer."

The threat might have been frightening, if the last image hadn't wrenched a laugh out of Harry.

"Can I watch?" he asked grinning.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Am I to understand that you believe our childhoods were comparable?"

"I dunno," Harry said, sobering slightly, but still savoring the idea of Aunt Petunia in a sewer. "They kept me in a cupboard. What about you?"

Snape opened his mouth, shut it, then forced out, "What do you mean, they kept you in a cupboard?"

"It's where I slept," Harry said. "Out of the way, you know, where they could pretend I didn't exist."

Snape stared at him, and for a few seconds Harry thought the man didn't believe him. Then he asked, "How big was the cupboard?"

Harry considered. "I don't think I could fit in it now."

"How long did they keep you there?"

"Until my Hogwarts letter came. It was addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs,' and that worried them a bit, so they gave me Dudley's second bedroom."

"They gave you - what?"

"Dudley, he's my cousin. They gave me his second room."

"His _second_ room?"

"Where he kept all his broken toys and stuff," Harry explained.

Snape stared at him, and he stared back, silently daring Snape to Legilimize him. Snape, however, leaned back, lacing his fingers and pressing them to his chin. "What else?"

"It's your turn," Harry said.

Snape hesitated, then said, in the same half-nonchalant, half-defiant tone Harry himself had used, "My father snapped my mother's wand and burned every spellbook of hers he could find."

Harry felt a stab of anger, and pity, then anger again. "She saved the potions book, though."

"No, I did. My mother rarely defended herself against him."

His words suggested all kinds of things that sounded far worse to Harry than being locked in a cupboard. He tried to imagine what it would be like to watch your dad hurt your mum, then stopped, because it was too awful.

"Your turn, Mr. Potter."

Harry took a moment to gather himself. "Uncle Vernon didn't destroy my magical stuff," he said, "but he locked it up, and put bars on my window so I couldn't send Hedwig for help. He tried to stop me from going to Hogwarts for the first couple of years. They never told me about magic because they wanted to 'stamp it out of me.'"

"They didn't tell you about magic?" Snape said, startled.

Harry shook his head. "I didn't know until Hagrid showed up."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "And how did your aunt and uncle respond to that?"

Harry grinned. "Uncle Vernon pointed a rifle at him."

"And?"

"Hagrid bent the barrel into a knot."

Snape grinned, a sudden, sharp, predatory grin that Harry had never seen before. It occurred to him that Snape might have been serious about dumping Petunia in a sewer.

"But there must have been incidents," Snape said, his grin abruptly vanishing. "You must have used accidental magic."

"I set a boa constrictor on Dudley once."

"I daresay you were punished."

Harry nodded. "You?"

"Always."

They sat for a few moments in silence. Then Harry said, "You hated Muggles after that."

Snape arched a brow. "You didn't?"

"No. They're not all like that."

"How did you know?" Snape asked. "At that age."

Harry shrugged. "Mostly because I could tell other Muggles didn't like the Dursleys either. The neighbors, the teachers… Nobody could stand them, except Marge."

"The aunt with the dog?"

"Yeah."

"She's the one you blew up, I believe."

"She deserved it."

"Because of the dog?"

"No. She was saying things about my parents."

"I seem to recall saying numerous things about your father, and you never blew _me_ up."

Harry considered that. "She was a lot rounder than you are."

Snape snorted. Harry thought it was safe to go back to his breakfast, and actually managed a few bites before Snape said, "I assumed they spoiled you."

Harry swallowed. "I gathered that, yeah."

"It was… an unfair assumption."

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. "I assumed you were evil. That was a bit unfair."

"A bit?"

"Morning!" Ginny said, striding in. "Have you left any for me?"

Harry, who had begun to suspect she had left them alone that long on purpose, had to reevaluate as soon as he saw her. She was wearing the golden dress robes she'd worn to Fleur's wedding, and had done something very complicated and pretty with her hair. He felt a thrill go through him from the top of his head all the way down to his feet.

"You look amazing," he said honestly.

Snape made a nauseated sound in the back of his throat. Ginny glared at him. "This was _your_ idea. Did you expect me to sneak in wearing Quidditch robes?"

"No. That doesn't mean I want to watch Potter drool over you."

"Peverell," she corrected. "And he's supposed to drool, he's my boyfriend."

"Husband," Snape shot back. "I believe drooling is supposed to cease upon marriage."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him, Harry. You can drool as much as you want."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," he said. "You packed dress robes?"

Ginny shrugged. "They can be useful."

Harry wondered exactly what kind of use she had expected to get out of these. He, for one, found them very distracting.

"If only your spouse had the same foresight," Snape said, surveying Harry's jeans and Weasley jumper. "We'll need to do something about your wardrobe, Peverell. You can't attend your parents' wedding wearing _that._ "

* * *

It was appallingly easy to sneak into the wedding. Though Lily and James were obviously exercising caution, they hadn't gone to nearly the extremes that Bill and Fleur had, and, once Ginny had gotten a good look at one of the other guests' invitations and altered the obnoxious rainbow lettering on their own to match it, they simply walked up to the front of the church, handed over their invitation, and walked in.

Snape had agreed that they should be inside, while he monitored the church from the square. They had made a new trio of fake Galleons, and once Harry and Ginny had settled into a pew, Harry sent Snape the quick assurance _we're in._

Then he looked around the church, trying to remind himself to be alert for any signs of danger, but really looking eagerly for any sign of the wedding party.

There were plenty of familiar faces, young and shocking in the sea of strangers. Professor McGonagall sat in the pew across from them, looking somehow less severe with twenty years shaved off her age. Frank Longbottom sat beside her, looking healthier than Harry had ever seen him, though grave despite his youth. Then there was Moody, missing a leg but not yet an eye, hovering in a shadowy corner and glaring at everybody. And there, in the doorway -

Harry felt his stomach leap. _Dumbledore._

He had known, of course, that Dumbledore would be here. He had tried not to think about it, because even now his feelings for the old wizard were a confused mess, but now, seeing him, he remembered vividly the last two times they had been together - first when Dumbledore had died, then when Harry had.

He felt tears burn his eyes, and had to look away. Ginny gripped his hand and kissed his temple, and he tried to let some of the tension ease out of him, though he couldn't stop a few tears from escaping.

He had missed Dumbledore. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, not when there was the thrill and awe of seeing his parents to consider, but he knew now that he had missed Dumbledore perhaps as much as he had ever missed them. Dumbledore had used and manipulated him, and dangled him like a puppet from so many strings, but he had also saved them all. What chance would Harry have stood against Voldemort, without Dumbledore? How could they have ever won the war?

He felt hurt and angry, but grateful, and more than anything, happy - happy that this Dumbledore was alive, happy that he would never suffer the fate Harry's Dumbledore had suffered. Happy that they all had another chance.

Harry didn't dare look at Dumbledore again, at least not until Dumbledore had settled into one of the front pews, his canary yellow robes reminding Harry wonderfully of Luna. There was such a mingling of hope and dread in his chest that he could hardly sit still, and Ginny had to squeeze his hand again in warning.

Trying to pull himself together, Harry looked around again. It was hard to tell who was suspicious and who wasn't, and difficult to trust his own judgment on the subject, when apparently not even Moody had realized that Harry and Ginny didn't belong. Then again, Snape had decided Harry could keep his hair black today; his resemblance to James might, for once, work in his favor. He didn't doubt people would assume he was a cousin.

And there were other Potters there. Harry could see flashes of half-remembered faces from the Mirror of Erised, wizards and witches who must be his family, but who could not have survived beyond his parents' death.

Lily's mother wasn't there; Harry guessed she was with Lily. There was a man on the bride's side of the church who might be her husband, Harry's grandfather, but from this distance it was impossible to tell. And what about Petunia? Had she come? Or was she already so bitter she was willing to miss her own sister's wedding?

"Harry!" Ginny whispered suddenly. "Harry - it's her!"

Harry, still thinking about Petunia, looked around wildly. Then Ginny waved, and he saw, in a flash of sudden happiness, the person she was waving to.

 _Hermione_.

* * *

Hermione and Severus had debated long and hard about whether or not to actually enter the church. Severus, in an uncharacteristic display of indecision, had changed his mind half a dozen times before finally, reluctantly, agreeing that the closer they were to Lily, the greater chance they would have of protecting her.

Then, of course, they had needed to find Severus dress robes. Hermione already had a set (the black robes she had purchased for all the funerals after the war), which Severus had been fairly appalled to learn she carried around in her bag.

"But why?" he had asked, evidently astonished she would do anything so impractical.

She had shrugged. "They can be useful."

Severus had been more than a little reluctant to show his face in Diagon Alley, but Hermione had cast a few mild Glamours and they had made it through without anyone recognizing them, even after Severus had returned to his customary clean-cut, heavily buttoned black. Severus had wanted to go to the wedding with Glamour Charms as well, but Hermione thought Moody (who was no doubt in charge of security) would be far more likely to admit them if he knew who they were.

"Anyway," she had assured him, "we'll sit in the back, near the door. No one will ever have to know we were there." _Unless something happens,_ she had added silently, and she knew he was thinking that, too.

Their invitation was accepted without question, and Moody nodded to them from a dark corner when they stepped through the door. The church was almost full; Lily and James were obviously as popular as everyone had always said. Hermione was just looking for a place to sit when a waving hand caught her eye.

Then she saw the faces beneath it, and her mouth fell open in shock.

She blinked. Surely she was mistaken. They couldn't be - not here -

Harry waved, grinning, and Hermione felt Severus's hand press against her back.

"He's making a scene," he hissed.

"But how…?"

"Let's find out."

They slid into the pew where Harry and Ginny were sitting. Harry and Ginny both stood up and hugged her, and Hermione was too dazed to tell them to sit down.

Severus, however, had no trouble hissing at them. As they all sank down, Ginny whispered, "He really is Snape!"

Severus glared at her. "And who are _you?_ "

"Ginny," Hermione whispered. "Remember, I told you -"

"The one who was possessed."

Ginny flinched. The diary was one of the only things that _could_ make her flinch, these days.

"How did you get here?" Hermione asked, still feeling as though the floor had dropped out from under her. "The Dementors -"

"It was Snape," Harry whispered. "Our Snape, I mean."

"He's here?"

"Outside, keeping watch," Harry said. "We thought the Death Eaters might -"

"We thought the same," Severus said.

Harry looked grim.

"But how -" Hermione persisted.

"He Transfigured us into bats," Harry said. "Then he just Occluded, I guess, and walked straight through Azkaban, no problem. It was brilliant."

Hermione could see from the astonished look on Severus's face that _he_ was not yet so accomplished at Occlumency. Yet that was not what astonished her.

"He brought you with him?"

Harry shrugged. "We ran into each other on our way to the gate. I think he figured I'd just come back on my own if he didn't let me come with him, so it was better to keep an eye on me."

"You don't say," Hermione said, completely thrown.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Harry added. "We've been here for days."

"We've been keeping track of your progress," Ginny added. At their blank looks, she explained, "You've been all over the _Prophet._ Death Eaters captured, anonymous tips…"

"Oh, that," Hermione said dismissively. "That was just a side project, we've mostly been focusing on -"

"Shh!" Severus's gaze was on the front of the church, where James had appeared in golden robes, Sirius and Remus standing beside him in gold and scarlet. In the front pew, Mrs. Evans took her seat.

Someone began playing the organ.

"This is so _weird,_ " Harry whispered.

Hermione squeezed his hand, saw Ginny holding his other, and let go. Beside her, Severus was sitting rigidly, his gaze relaxed into an unconvincing blankness as he stared at the Marauders.

Hermione squeezed his hand instead.

A hush fell over the crowd, and they turned to see a line of bridesmaids all in scarlet and gold slowly proceeding up the aisle. Hermione saw Alice wink at Frank, who smiled at her as she drifted by.

Then the music changed, and Lily appeared.

The first time Hermione had seen her, she had thought Lily looked very normal. Now, watching the gauzy white dress pouring into the air around her, seeing the tiny lilies planted in her hair, seeing the hint of gold at her throat and ears, Hermione couldn't understand how she had ever thought Lily looked normal. Lily was beautiful.

She felt Severus's hand tremble beneath hers. When she looked at him, he was not looking at Lily, but down at their hands, his shoulders rising and falling more rapidly than normal. No matter how angry he had been at Lily, she knew full well that he hadn't suddenly fallen out of love with her.

She wondered if that was why Snape had decided to wait outside.

She felt sad suddenly, sad for both of them, and in some strange unexpected way sad for herself. She had never felt about anyone the way Severus Snape (either one) felt about Lily, or the way Harry and Ginny felt about each other. No one had ever felt that way about her, either, no matter what Krum might once have said. What she had felt with Ron had been a strong, persistent tension that had broken the moment she had surrendered to it. This was something else, something far away from her, and sitting in the midst of it all she felt very out of place and alone.

* * *

Outside, sitting on a frosty bench with a powerful Disillusionment Charm over himself, Severus listened to the distant organ music with a feeling less like loss than like nostalgia. Familiar faces - faces he had forgotten, faces that were long dead - had passed one after another into the church like a line of ghosts, while he sat outside watching, the only one of them to survive, the only one to grow old.

But that was only in his world. In this world, they were alive, warm and breathing, and he was out here in the cold, invisible, the ghost of a future they would never know. He should have felt lonely, or maudlin, but instead he felt only a sense of rightness, bordering on happiness, because _this_ was how the world should be.

Or, at least, it would be, once Voldemort was destroyed and that hideous law abolished. Considering the progress Miss Granger had already made, Severus didn't doubt it was possible.

For a moment, thinking of her, he thought he saw her. Then, as he caught sight of the dark, less-greasy-than-usual head at her side, he _knew_ he was seeing her, and almost called out. But she was handing over an invitation and slipping into the church, his younger self close by her side, closer than Severus could ever remember standing to anyone with any degree of comfort.

Then the loneliness did hit him, but it was strange and wonderful, too. This was him, as he should have been; as he would have been, if he had only had someone kind and brave and loyal on his side. This version of himself had made the right choice, and it was right for him to have this happiness.

He could have almost laughed at himself, then. Who would have expected that at Lily's wedding, it was himself he would be jealous of?

He was still smiling when the roof of the Golden Lion exploded in a shower of tile and stone across the square, cracking and smashing onto the cobblestones with such force the ice in the frozen fountain shattered. By the time Severus had sprung to his feet and drawn his wand - a mere second, at most - the front wall of the inn had begun to collapse, and he heard the scream of the innkeeper cut short.

In the ruin stood a giant. Around him, appearing one after another out of thin air, Severus saw the silhouettes of four others block out the pale blue sky.


	30. Chapter 30

30

Lily's heart was beating so loudly and so wonderfully that, in the moment she pressed her lips to James's, she thought the wild crashing sound was just the flood of her pulse swelling through her veins.

Then someone screamed, and James jerked away from her, though his arm closed protectively around her waist.

There was another scream, and even Lily could hear now that the distant (but not nearly distant enough) crashing was not coming from her bloodstream (although that had accelerated as well).

"James!" she cried.

"GIANTS!" Sirius roared, his face pressed to a stained glass window that was shaking with each booming crash outside. A moment later, Sirius flung himself backward, and a chunk of bricks the size of the altar crashed through the window, smashed into the back wall, and split apart, showering them all in glass and debris. Lily saw the edge of a brick strike Mr. Poppyton, the Ministry wizard who had married them, and he fell in a flash of blood.

James shoved Lily down, and she saw Poppyton's staring eyes, and knew he was dead.

"Mum," she whimpered, then, "Dobby! _Dobby!_ "

People were yelling, screaming, fleeing, despite Moody's and Sirius's combined shouts of "Stay here, you idiots!" and "Keep that door SHUT!" Glass shattered from every side, colorful shards that sparked and broke apart in the freezing sunlight, and Lily heard roars, not of thunder but of voices, inhuman voices, raging toward them from outside.

"Dobby!" she gasped. " _Please!_ "

But the house-elf didn't appear.

* * *

Dobby heard Lily Evans-soon-to-be-Potter calling him, and Apparated with all the urgency her voice commanded. Squeezing black surrounded him, pushing him through the narrow spaces connecting the world, and just as he was beginning to suffocate, he felt the first relieved moment of the unsqueezing -

Only to slam into something, hard magic, and hurtle backwards into some other space.

Gasping, shaking, Dobby wobbled to his feet, then wobbled straight back to the ground. He could hear distant crashing, but one of his ears hadn't quite unsqueezed itself yet, and he twitched his head this way and that, trying to straighten it out.

Wards. Why had the wizards put up wards, and not made a special exception for Dobby?

He shook himself. Hermione Granger had not set the wards. Hermione Granger would not have forgotten about him.

Dobby shook himself again, his ear finally unsqueezing itself, and, with the unsqueezing, he heard a cool, high, terrifying voice so close he could practically feel its breath on his neck.

In the same instant, he realized that the anti-elf ward had flung him behind a rubbish bin, and that it was only the bin that was separating him from… _Him._

The Dark Lord.

"Well, Wormtail? What are you waiting for?"

A pitiful choking sob came from the other side of the bin. "My lord… The giants… Surely the giants are enou-"

"The giants are not infallible, as they proved in Lancaster," the Dark Lord replied coldly. "And I wish to oversee this matter… personally. You claimed you could pass the wards."

"Yes, my lord… I can, my lord… but alone…"

"You will not be alone. You know what must be done."

"But James - I mean, Potter -"

"Ah. I see. You are having seconds thoughts."

"No -"

"Do not lie to me. _Silencio! Crucio!_ "

A muffled, thudding, scuffling sound followed, and Dobby knew Wormtail was twitching on the ground, unable to scream. Master Malfoy had occasionally silenced his victims in that way when Madam Malfoy complained about the noise.

" _Finite,_ " the Dark Lord hissed. "How noble that you should hesitate to betray your friends now, when it is already too late."

Wormtail sobbed. "I shouldn't have -"

"But you did."

"I know!" Wormtail wailed.

"Silence! You will obey me, or you will die, Wormtail. Which will it be?"

The sobbing last for a few seconds longer, then stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry, my lord," the pitiful voice whispered. "I was weak."

"You _are_ weak. I am your only source of strength. Remember that."

"Yes, my lord… I'm sorry, my lord…"

"Enough of your apologies. Finish this."

There was a nod, then a soft shrinking sound, and Dobby saw a rat race away into the shadows.

* * *

Severus's first, heart-wrenching thought was not for Lily, Miss Granger, or the other innocents inside the church. As he watched the buildings across the square come tumbling down, as five massive figures crashed through them, his first, anguished terror was for Fiend.

He had left her in the inn.

The inn that was about to be demolished.

The giants had gone for the Golden Lion first, the inn where the wedding guests had stayed. But the shabby little Muggle inn was already beginning to tremble under the impacts of debris, its windows cracking, its chimney snapping off in a sudden hot burst of soot. Even as he watched, the nearest giant clenched its gnarled, hideous fist around the edge of the roof and began prying it up, an expression of malicious glee opening like a gash across its ugly face.

Severus pointed his wand at the iron fence surrounding the churchyard, snapped away a black metal rod as thick as his thumb, and flung it through the air with a flick of his wand. As it sliced through the air like a spear, it stretched and thickened, stretched and thickened, until it was as wide around as his wrist, and as sharp as -

Well, sharp enough to penetrate the giant's eye.

It didn't roar. It only gaped stupidly at nothing and toppled sideways into the square, slamming down with such force that a crater opened in the cobblestones, its shudder almost enough to throw Severus from his feet.

 _One down,_ he thought.

Three of the remaining giants had taken no notice of their fallen brethren, too occupied with smashing buildings and throwing things at the church. The last one, however, fixed its ugly, angry eyes on Severus, and started to run.

 _BOOM._

The first step felt like an earthquake.

 _BOOM._

Or a stampede.

 _BOOM._

Severus flung another makeshift spear, but the giant was expecting it, and swatted it out of the air with an angry roar.

 _BOOM._

One more step and -

Severus Disapparated.

He appeared behind the creature, and watched it stagger, startled and infuriated, into the nearest building. It emerged with a fistful of what looked like a mattress, which it ripped apart, filling the air with fluff. Severus ducked behind the shattered fountain as the giant turned. He needed another weapon.

Spells, of course, were useless against giants. Their hides were too thick. No enchantment or ward could stop them. Even the _Avada Kedavra_ was more likely to ricochet off their warty, calloused skin than to penetrate to the flesh beneath.

No, to kill a giant, less subtle weapons were needed.

Severus did not consider the option of _not_ killing the giants. Dumbledore had always naively believed that giants could be reasoned with, brought to some kind of peaceful coexistence, but Severus thought that was about as likely as taming a manticore. Giants were not human, no matter what Hagrid (and, evidently, Hagrid's father) believed. Nor were they civilized, like centaurs or merpeople.

They were monsters, and they loved nothing more than killing.

Severus pointed his wand at a lamp post at the edge of the square, uprooted it with a violent slash of his wand, and leveled it in a crackle of sparks and an ever-sharpening tip toward the giant.

This time, the giant didn't swat it away, but it did dodge, and the metal only grazed the side of its head. Dazed, the creature swayed, roared, then swayed again, blood pouring from its face onto the cobblestones.

Another giant, smaller than the others, paused in the middle of swinging a couch toward the church. It sniffed in the direction of the spattering blood, caught sight of its wounded companion, then peered around the square.

A moment later, Severus threw himself out from behind the already shattered fountain, the ruins of a crumpled couch bursting into pieces all around him.

They were both lumbering toward him then, BOOM- _BOOM-_ BOOM- _BOOM,_ and he just had time to Disapparate before they lunged at the cobblestones where he had been.

He reappeared behind the corpse of the giant he had killed just in time to see the other two crash into each other. Howling in rage and pain, they started pummeling each other, each punch cracking like thunder around the wreckage of the square.

Breathing hard, Severus turned his attention to the other two.

* * *

"I've barricaded the door!"

"We tried to make the windows Unbreakable, but I don't know how long -"

"Get the pews out of the way -"

"Send a Patronus to the Ministry!"

"There's a fire - the candles!"

Harry sent a heavy spray of _Aguamenti_ at the burning altar cloth, while beside him Ginny waved her wand at the other candles, extinguishing them before they could do any more damage. Hermione was somewhere near the entrance, shouting at Moody about the wards, while his dad and Sirius were desperately reinforcing the walls, turning every now and then to yell at McGonagall, who had started Transfiguring the pews into enormous spears.

Dumbledore, to everyone's horror, had vanished.

"The crypts are blocked," Ginny said grimly. "We need to clear this off -"

"You can't send people to the crypts, they'll get crushed if everything comes down!" Alice Longbottom snapped from behind them. Then, catching sight of Ginny's face, she asked, "Who're you?"

"I'm a cousin," Harry said hastily. "She's my wife. And there's a Portkey in the crypt - not enough for everyone, but we can at least get the Muggles -"

"There's no Portkey in the crypt," Alice said, her suspicion only deepening as she surveyed Harry's face. "I helped oversee the defenses -"

"Great job," Ginny muttered.

"And there was no Portkey, there was no authorization for that -"

"Yeah, well, we didn't ask permission," Harry said. "Help us move this!"

He pointed to the smashed wreckage blocking the entrance to the crypts.

But Alice had her wand on him. "Who are you? You weren't on the guest list, I know you weren't -"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Ginny snapped.

She jabbed her wand at Alice, but Alice flicked her wand right back, and Harry felt the sudden furious crackle of magic as flashes and bangs erupted between them, hot and bright and sizzling.

"Ginny!" he yelled. "I don't think that's going to convince -"

SWOOSH.

A bat flew out of Alice's nose, then another, then another. Alice shrieked, more in fury than alarm, and then someone else saw the bats and shrieked, and suddenly, among the flying glass and bricks and debris, there were hordes of bats to duck from as well.

"Vampires!" someone screamed.

"They're not vampires!" Harry shouted, as others picked up the cry. Exasperated, he pointed his wand at his throat. " _Sonorus._ " Then, climbing onto the altar, he shouted,"THEY'RE NOT VAMPIRES!"

Everyone fell silent, startled, and outside they heard the infuriated roar of a giant. Harry could only hope Snape was holding his own.

"THERE'S A PORTKEY IN THE CRYPT!" he shouted. "WE NEED TO CLEAR THIS -"

A sudden panicked rush of people were stampeding toward him, screaming and desperate.

"Bad idea," Ginny told him.

Harry could see that. The prospect of escape had unleashed something wild in the guests, who, Harry had to remind himself, had probably never been in a battle before.

"CALM DOWN!" he shouted. "THE CRYPT IS BLOCKED, WE NEED TO CLEAR -"

"Really!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, and with a wave of her wand, the debris blocking the entrance to the crypts vanished. "I'm surprised at you, Mr. Pott-"

Then she caught sight of Harry's face, and started. "But -"

"DISTANT COUSIN," he said, then, remembering the Sonorus Charm, removed it. "All right - not everyone at once -"

It was no use. The guests - those who were not trying to help with the defenses - were shoving their way toward the crypt's entrance. Harry and Ginny were caught up in the tide, and had to brace themselves at the head of the stairs.

As one, they raised their wands. " _Impedimenta!_ "

The crowd, at least those in front, froze. Those behind crashed against them like a wave, but not with enough force to break the spell.

"LISTEN!" Harry roared, without the aid of any charm this time. "We need the Muggles first - anyone who can't fight -"

"Why should Muggles go first?" a woman spat out.

"HE JUST TOLD YOU!" Ginny shouted. "Because they can't fight, you idiot!"

"STOP!" Alice screamed. "We don't know who they are, they weren't invited! IT'S A TRAP!"

A spell shot past Harry's face, singeing his cheek. Ginny shot back with another spell at once, but Harry yelled, "Stop!" and somewhere behind the crowd he heard another sharply familiar voice, young though it was, yelling, "It's not a trap, you dunderhead, they're with us!"

"AND WHO INVITED YOU, SNAPE?" Alice yelled.

"I DID!" Moody hollered from somewhere farther away.

And suddenly he was there, shoving his one-legged way through the crowd. "You said there's a Portkey, boy?"

"Enough for maybe ten," Harry yelled back.

"All right, Muggles first - that'd just be Mr. and Mrs. Evans -"

One threatening jab of Moody's wand was enough to make the panicked crowd inch aside; he didn't even need a spell.

"Lily!" Mrs. Evans cried. "We can't leave -"

"Go, Mum, I'll be fine - I'm sorry - I'm so sorry -"

Harry couldn't see his mother, but he could hear her sobbing, and heard himself saying, "Her, too - Lily too -"

"He's right, Evans - sorry, Mrs. Potter now. Down you go."

"But James - I can't -"

"Go with them, Lily - take them and go -"

Harry shivered, his father's voice and words too familiar for comfort.

"I can't -" Lily said, but Harry could see she was already following her parents, too scared to do otherwise. She called back, "James!"

"It's all right, Lily - I love -"

A mass of rock smashed through the roof amid a sudden explosion of screams, and Harry saw James disappear in a cloud of dust.

"Dad -" he started to yell, only to cough as the dust choked him.

From somewhere else, he heard James's equally choked voice: "Go, Lily - get out -"

Then Mr. and Mrs. Evans were rushing by Harry and down the stairs, dragging Lily along with them. Harry drank in the sight of her face, but she didn't see him; she was crying too hard.

"All right," Moody growled. "You - and you -"

He picked other guests, the oldest and weakest, a frail great-aunt, a coughing great-grandfather, Bathilda Bagshot, this time not speaking Parseltongue.

"Down the stairs," Ginny said, "hurry up -"

Another crash. Another cloud of dust.

"Don't push, you're not going to get there faster if you break someone's neck!" Ginny snapped.

"That's all of 'em," Moody said.

Protests rose among those he hadn't chosen, but Harry and Ginny were already racing down the stairs after the guests.

The crypt was freezing, the noises from above oddly muted. Every once in a while dust would cascade down through the increasingly large cracks in the stone ceiling. Half the people Moody had picked were crying.

"All right," Ginny said, "this is it."

She was holding a tacky plastic bouquet they had picked up at a shop two days before.

"Everyone grab hold of a flower - don't yank them out, you just need to touch them -"

Harry wasn't sure how, in the chaos of movement around the Portkey and the almost constant stream of dust drizzling down from above, he noticed the slight shift in the shadows behind him, but his instincts had him turning, wand raised.

"Pettigrew!" he gasped.

Wormtail was standing there, young, pitiful, hunched against the wall behind a sarcophagus. His watery eyes focused on Harry's face.

"James -" he began, then blinked, startled, unsure, as he realized Harry wasn't his father.

Then his face twisted, and before Harry could even shout a warning, he pressed his finger against the Dark Mark on his left arm.

* * *

Severus had Apparated five more times, trying to trick the giants into running into each other, or into impaling themselves on the sharpened lamp post he kept hurtling at them, but all without success.

He was sweating beneath his robes, out of breath and aching from the number of times he had thrown himself out of the giants' paths. Taking down the first giant unawares had been easy; attacking the second had at least been reasonable. Fighting four of the devils at once was one of the more foolish things he had done in his life, but the church, though damaged, was still standing, and so was the wretched Muggle inn.

The giants had abandoned their fights with each other to try to squash the annoying dark figure appearing and disappearing around them. They had trampled the cobblestones of the square into a rough, crumbled field of blood-soaked muck and dust, leaking sewage here and there from crushed pipes. Muggle police had foolishly appeared on the scene, carrying one pistol between the three of them, and fired a few terrified shots before turning tail and running, abandoning their car to be smashed into smithereens and then, to Severus's severe displeasure, thrown at him.

He Disapparated, only to feel something smash into him the moment he reappeared, slamming him to the ground. For a moment, he thought one of the giants had finally caught up to him; he let out a startled, angry breath, but couldn't move, still stunned by the blow. Then he saw one of the tires of the ruined police car rolling away from him, only to strike a jutting pipe and fall on its side.

A moment later, the stained hub cap began spinning of its own accord, lifting free of the tire and into the air. Severus stared at it, astonished, then felt a flash of half-triumph, half-terror as he saw the spinning metal disc begin to sharpen along its edge like a saw.

Triumph, if it was for the giants. Terror, if it was for him.

Across the ruin of the square, he could see three other discs spinning in the air, sharpening until they almost sang in the frozen air.

And beyond them, wand raised, a bright yellow figure.

 _Dumbledore._

The hub caps spun upward suddenly, so fast they were little more than silver blurs hissing and whizzing in the sun. They shot toward the giants, not toward their eyes or throats or bellies, but straight for their heels.

The silver discs sliced through them too quickly to see, but Severus saw the blood spurt out, and watched the giants crumple, one after the other, to the ground. They clutched their bleeding, useless ankles, pounded their fists on the ground, and rolled howling onto their backs like screaming toddlers.

Dumbledore calmly levitated the crumpled couch cushions strewn around the fountain into each of their mouths like gags.

Severus stumbled to his feet, staring, too astonished and delighted and furious to do anything but gape at the yellow-robed wizard, who turned to look at him with considerable curiosity.

"I am not certain we have had the pleasure," he said.

Severus laughed.

Dumbledore looked politely puzzled, which made it harder for Severus to pull himself together, though, with an effort, he did.

"I think now is not the time," he said. "There will be Death Eaters…"

They both glanced around the square.

Still, no Death Eaters had appeared.

* * *

For a moment, when Pettigrew touched his Dark Mark, Harry thought it must not have worked. There was no pain in his scar, no answering thrill of rage from that other mind.

Then he realized he wasn't connected to that other mind anymore, and had just enough time to raise his wand before -

 _CRACK!_

Voldemort appeared in the middle of the crypt.

Half the people holding the Portkey let go with shrieks of terror. The others, desperately focused on Ginny's countdown, didn't see Voldemort until Ginny was down to -

"Two! One! _Now!_ "

Their shrieks disappeared in a jerking blur of movement, along with the Portkey.

Voldemort, perhaps realizing what was happening, perhaps just eager to begin killing, slashed his wand at those left behind.

Harry saw his great-grandfather drop, then his great-aunt. Cowering behind Ginny were Lily, Lily's mother -

" _CONFRINGO!_ " he bellowed.

Voldemort twisted, and Harry's Blasting Hex smashed into the wall behind him.

" _Avada -_ " Voldemort began, but Harry's spell had been too strong. With a deafening crash, half the ceiling caved in.

"Ginny!" Harry yelled. "Lily!"

"I've got them!" Ginny shouted, wrenching two figures behind her. "Harry -"

"UP THE STAIRS!" Harry roared.

Ginny pushed Lily ahead of her, then Harry's grandmother. Harry looked around desperately for any other survivors, but the figures lying motionless on the ground weren't getting up. Pettigrew was gone, and Voldemort -

"Harry, come ON!" Ginny screamed.

Harry raced up the stairs behind her, and she pointed her wand back down them, at the stone sarcophagus closest to the foot of the stairs.

" _Confringo!"_ she cried.

The tomb exploded, and with it came a giant blast of fireworks in every color of the rainbow, and a few others Harry thought Fred and George might have invented out of sheer cruelty to the human eye. Harry saw Voldemort's shocked, enraged face as the word POO shot toward him in a bright, putrid green -

Then debris was flying all around him, burying the entrance, shutting Voldemort in with the fireworks. A dripping brown DUNG escaped the hole where the ceiling had caved in, but McGonagall was already filling the gap, transfiguring the church's organ into a sheet of lead that flowed into every crevice. Professor Flitwick was there, too, casting Unbreakable Charms, and Lily, sobbing, joined him, waving her wand again and again while, from beneath them, Voldemort's screams of rage and blasts of magic became more and more muffled.

But Harry knew what was coming. Pettigrew had brought Voldemort inside the wards; that much was clear. And if he could do that, then Voldemort could bring others -

"The giants are down!" Sirius shouted. "Dumbledore -"

"Voldemort is here!" Ginny screamed. "We need to get out!"

The chaos was incredible. The church was falling apart all around them, its battered frame splintered and shattered, its floor buried beneath dust and debris so thick no one could do more than stumble. People were running and standing and sitting and lying, some bleeding, some in shock, some sobbing helplessly. Harry looked around for Hermione, and couldn't find her. Ginny was dragging his mum toward the front door, while her mum had grabbed someone else - Alice, half-drenched in blood -

The floor gave a giant cracking shudder, and split apart beneath their feet.

* * *

Severus had been holding a Shield Charm around himself and Hermione for what felt like an hour, though he knew it could not have been more than five minutes. She stood with her back pressed against his, her wand sliding through the air with a rapidity he had only ever seen from Flitwick, her magic rising in such tense, focused waves that he could swear he felt her hair crackling against the nape of his neck.

His job was to protect her from falling debris. So far, he estimated he had saved her life nineteen times. Twenty, if you considered the shards of glass from the exploding window beside them might have slit open her jugular. In any case, his Shield Charm had taken a beating, and he was starting to wonder how long this particular ward would take.

"Done!" she gasped, just as his arm was beginning to shake from the effort.

"We should have done this before," he said. "If we had cast these before it started -"

"I know," she said grimly.

There was no point in saying anything else. They had decided against casting wards around the church for fear one of the guests might inadvertently trigger them, but this ward, at least, they should have cast, risk or no risk.

"I've never tested it," she said anxiously, as she had said before.

"I know," he said. "It'll be -"

He cut off, because there was Lily, who was supposed to have taken the Portkey, and behind her, Mrs. Evans, who _definitely_ should have taken the Portkey, and someone, maybe the Weasley girl, was screaming about -

"Voldemort?" Hermione gasped, going white.

Almost as if the name had invoked him, the floor in the center of the church cracked, splitting apart, the dust and debris pouring into it as it gave way. People were screaming and clutching for purchase, sliding down, disappearing -

 _Crack._ A masked figure appeared at the edge of the chapel. _Crack._ Another. _Crack. Crack. Crack…_

One of them screamed, then another, dropping to the floor and clutching both at their left arms and at their genitals.

"I think it worked," Severus said.

But three of the figures hadn't dropped, and when one turned so Severus saw its silhouette, he understood why: these were women.

Hermione made a terrified noise, aimed her wand at the nearest of the female Death Eaters, and missed spectacularly.

Severus shoved her aside as the Death Eater fired back, then slashed at the woman with a much-better aimed curse. The witch blocked it and struck out at him with something red and writhing, but he unwound it with a twirl of his wand and sent it flying back, redder and hotter. The witch dodged, narrowly avoided slipping into the gaping hole in the center of the church, and slashed her wand at him again, but this time Severus was too fast for her, and she slid soundlessly down into the crypt.

There were more Death Eaters now, and though most of them were whimpering and clutching whatever shriveled up thing Hermione's Dark Mark-triggered ward had left them with, the Death Eater witches were fighting hard, and there were more of them than Severus would have ever expected. Lucius had only ever mentioned Bellatrix, yet here there were half-a-dozen at least, and even some of the wounded men were beginning to creep their way back toward a dueling pose.

And from beneath them, in the crypt, screams and flashes of green swept up in an eerie, dusty, twisting glow.

Severus couldn't see Lily or Mrs. Evans. He couldn't even see Lily's otherworldly son, or his redheaded girlfriend. Potter and Black were behind the charred, crushed altar, dueling with a witch who was far more talented than either of them. Lupin was lying on the floor beside them, unconscious or dead. Frank Longbottom was bending over a bloody, motionless body. Moody was growling and swearing from beneath a pile of debris, but no one was in any position to help him.

And Hermione, Severus could see, was not nearly as good a fighter as he had assumed. A talented ward-caster, yes. A brilliant witch, undoubtedly. But she was shaking and crying now, though she kept firing poorly-aimed spells in the general direction of the Death Eaters. Most of them seemed to be Stunning Spells.

One of the injured Death Eater men managed to pull himself up into a crouch and fire back. Severus blocked the spell and cut him open with a _Sectumsempra._

"Hermione," he said, "stop."

"I can't -"

"You're just drawing their attention. _Aim,_ woman. And not with a Stunner, they'll be up again in five minutes."

Hermione was trembling too hard to obey. Gripping her by the wrist, he pulled her into the shadow of some wreckage, pushed her into the most sheltered corner he could find, and started taking careful aim.

One down. Two. Was he actually killing people? Three. Another saw what he was doing, aimed for him, and was struck in the chest by someone else's spell - Frank Longbottom's. Their eyes met briefly, then they both turned back to what they were doing.

And still, no sign of Lily. No sign of her mother. He knew they must have fallen into the crypt, and felt the terrible urge to jump in after them, but he couldn't just leave Hermione here. In the state she was in, she was helpless.

But Hermione seemed to be getting a grip on herself. With steadier breathing, she crawled up next to him, took aim, and blasted off a Death Eater's leg.

"That's it," he said.

"I was aiming for his wand arm," she said shakily.

"Then try again," he said, as the maimed man, half-mad or maybe in shock, tried to curse them instead of doing the sensible thing and stemming the flood of blood pouring out of his stump.

Hermione's next spell met its mark.

* * *

The crypt was a nightmare of dust and screams. Every once in a while, a flash of green light would diffuse eerily through the clouds of debris, and unfailingly the dull thud of a body would follow.

Harry, Ginny, Lily, and Mrs. Evans were crouching behind a large stone sarcophagus, covered as well as they could be by the Invisibility Cloak. Every once in a while, a Death Eater would fall from above, wounded or, more usually, dead, and two of the bodies had landed right beside them, hiding them even more completely from view. Harry only prayed none would fall directly on top of them.

Beside Harry, Ginny was slowly, silently moving her left hand into the pocket of her robes. Harry couldn't imagine what she was looking for until she pulled out her fake Galleon. He watched her spell the words _Crypt. Help._ Then he felt his own Galleon burn in his pocket as the message went to him - and to Snape.

Harry wasn't entirely certain what Snape was supposed to do against Voldemort, but then, Snape had breezed through Azkaban like it was nothing, so he probably stood a better chance than three teenagers and a Muggle.

Voldemort, for his part, had stopped moving. It had been more than a minute since he had cast his last Killing Curse, and Harry didn't think any of the other guests who had fallen into the crypt had survived, except those crouched beside him under the Cloak. Harry hated himself for hiding, but was all too aware that the protection he had always had - the protection of his mother's love, of the hideous Horcrux - was gone. He had his holly wand, but he didn't dare trust to his dueling skills against Voldemort.

He didn't think _Expelliarmus_ was going to save his life today.

The smell of blood and death was everywhere. He could feel Lily trembling against him, and every once in a while one of her tears would land on his hand, but she was, thankfully, silent. The only sounds in the crypt were the groans and whimpers of the Death Eaters who had been clutching themselves since the moment they Apparated in.

"My lord," one of them begged. "Please… it hurts…"

"The wards," another hissed. "You said we would be safe from the wards -"

" _Crucio!_ "

The insolent Death Eater's screams filled the crypt, echoing horribly from the cracked stone. A moment later the screams stopped, and the Death Eater sobbed, "My lord… forgive me… but there was a ward you did not foresee…"

"I was not affected by any ward," Voldemort said contemptuously.

"It was the Mark," the Death Eater hissed. "The Dark Mark… My lord, you do not have…"

"A ward against the Dark Mark?" Voldemort asked, his voice cold and dangerous, almost incredulous. "No such ward has ever existed. No one has the knowledge of the Dark Mark that would be required…" He was silent for a moment. "And after all… Pettigrew was not affected…"

"My lord," the first, whimpering voice repeated. " _Please._ "

"I have no time for your weakness now," he said. "It is time to end this. Find the girl, and bring her to me. Potter, too, if he is not already dead."

Lily shuddered. Harry felt a movement behind him and turned to see Mrs. Evans had pressed a hand over Lily's mouth. Her gaze met Harry's, and he saw her confusion as she recognized his green eyes, and James's face. He looked away.

"My lord… we cannot move…"

"Did the ward affect your legs, as well?"

"No… but…"

"No more excuses. You will use your legs, or you will lose those as well. _Now._ "

There were shufflings and groans, and then Voldemort was raising his wand, and a stairway began to form from the crushed rock and broken tombs. He had just stepped onto the lowest of the stairs when a figure appeared at their head.

A figure in sunshine yellow.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort hissed, and Harry heard his shock and rage.

"Tom," Dumbledore said quietly. "I did not expect to meet you here."

There was a moment of such tension that Harry felt every hair on his head stand on end, while elation and terror pounded against his rib cage with every beat of his heart. Then Voldemort's wand twitched, and Dumbledore's did as well, and the air was full of a wild racing crackle of magic, light, and sound. The dust whirled into a raging tornado, the glass shards descended in a rain of knives, the Transfigured lead of the pipe organ swelled into a hot, stinking wave of molten metal, splashing futilely on walls of stone that formed and crumbled and formed again.

Then Voldemort aimed his wand up, not at Dumbledore, who was still at the top of the stairs, but at the ceiling, and with a splitting wrench what little there was left of it began smashing down.

Dumbledore swept backward, waving his wand at the falling debris and directing it back toward Voldemort - but Voldemort was gone.

Harry, who had been staring at the falling ceiling, hadn't seen him vanish, and neither, it was clear, had Dumbledore. Frantically, Harry peered around the crypt, but the duel had stirred up the dust again, and he couldn't be sure that Voldemort wasn't hiding behind it.

Then, above, a woman's voice cried, " _Morsmordre!_ " and the Dark Mark shot up into the sky like the cloud of a terrible explosion.

There were more screams, and the church began to truly collapse. Walls that had been compromised by the giants but which had barely managed to stay standing through the Death Eaters' attack were now falling on every side, filling the air with a terrible crashing, splintering, shattering roar. Harry could hear more screams, and a woman - was it Bellatrix? - shrieking, " _Avada Kedavra!"_

But though the crypt shook, there was no sign of any movement.

None, at least, until the incantation began.

Dumbledore was gone, whether to help people escape the falling church or to duel with other Death Eaters, Harry didn't know. But Voldemort, he knew suddenly, was still here in the crypt with them.

From his wand, an eerie greenish light, far paler than the Killing Curse, began to glow.

The incantation was long, and filled Harry with an unease deeper and colder than anything he had ever felt. He knew he should stop it - that whatever Voldemort was doing, it was wrong, it was _evil_ \- and something deep, deep inside him told him it would be worth his life, worth anything, to end it.

But it was not only his life. If he moved, Voldemort would find Lily - his grandmother - Ginny.

He looked at Ginny, and found her with her eyes shut, shaking almost as much as Lily was, though she was not crying. Harry could feel Voldemort's magic washing over them, and wondered if this was what it had felt like for Ginny, to have Voldemort possess her, if she had felt this sickly creeping evil, rather than the sharp unendurable pain Harry had always felt.

He gripped her hand, and she clung to it tightly, opening her eyes to look at him, full of despair. Behind him, he could hear Lily's breathless sobs, and something from Mrs. Evans that might have been a prayer.

Then the sarcophagus they had been hiding behind cracked open, and some spindly, ragged thing began to emerge. The bodies on the floor, Voldemort's victims as well as the Death Eaters who had fallen, began to twitch. Harry felt cold sweat prickle his forehead, and knew, finally, what this incantation was for.


	31. Chapter 31

31

Severus held the fake Galleon clenched in his fist, staring at the church, unable to move. He had passed the coin's message to Dumbledore as soon as he'd received it - _Crypt. Help._ \- and Dumbledore had swept away in a flurry of yellow robes and silver hair. Severus, racing at his heels, had almost run headfirst into the ward, but its warning prickle - the familiar warmth of Miss Granger's magic - had stopped him short.

Dumbledore hadn't paused, and, Severus suspected, hadn't even noticed Severus was no longer following him. The old wizard had disappeared into the church, leaving Severus to stand here, frozen, desperately wondering whether the faint, empty scar on his left arm bore enough traces of Voldemort's magic to activate the ward Miss Granger had cast.

The ward itself astonished him. Though he had discussed the Death Eaters' warding with her, the spells Voldemort had used to admit none but those bearing his Mark, he had never considered that she might reverse the spell - especially not then, in the aftermath of the war, when they should have been safe.

But there was no mistaking this ward. It was the Dark Lord's ward mirrored almost exactly. The only alteration was the extra trigger, in the event that the initial ward was breached - the consequence that would be faced by any Death Eater who stood within it.

It wasn't castration, exactly, but it was close enough that Severus had to wonder if he knew Miss Granger as well as he thought he did.

Still - it might be worth the risk - it would be painful, but Severus knew the curse, and knew it was not permanent, though it would take weeks at least to heal -

Before he could decide, the half-shattered roof of the church burst apart in a sudden crack of magic, collapsing in on itself and filling the church with a new round of screams.

Then he heard Bellatrix's voice shrieking, " _Morsmordre!"_

The Dark Mark swelled from the church with such force the tattered walls began to bend and break. A bloody, unrecognizable figure in torn dress robes staggered out of the church, followed by another, and another, then by Bellatrix herself, who screamed, " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The first fleeing figure fell.

Severus backed away from the ward, raised his wand, and shouted, " _Serpensortia!"_

It was the shout, more than the serpent, that caught her attention - which had, of course, been his intent. Though he had not risked passing the ward, the serpent slid through it without hindrance, hissing toward Bellatrix, who Vanished it with a wave of her wand.

Then she came for Severus.

Her mask had fallen away during the battle, or perhaps she had never bothered with it to begin with. She was younger and more beautiful than when he had last seen her, unmarred by Azkaban, haughty and pale and so like Black that he felt a chill of the old fear: the humiliating, inescapable dread of his childhood.

But Bellatrix was a far greater threat than Black had ever been, though she was neither as old, nor as experienced, nor as insane as the Bellatrix Severus had known during the second war. He had barely known her during the first war; he had been a boy to her then, an ugly and ambitious newcomer, Lucius's half-blood pet. He had never had the chance to see the young Bellatrix fight.

Her first spell danced at him with the same sharp, mocking edges as her laughter, dark and bright as a summer storm. She was like a dancer herself, flashing at him like lightning, crackling and striking and cackling with sheer pleasure as she realized she was not going to kill him with a single blow.

Severus, for his part, was silent. He felt none of the fury Molly Weasley had felt, none of the arrogant triumph that had brought Black to his end. He disliked Bellatrix, but some part of him shied away from the thought of killing her, when she was so young and so dark and so free. She had an appeal that was not sexual, but magical, a dark, terrible beauty that he had never wanted to destroy.

And yet, she repulsed him. What the Bellatrix of his world had done to the Longbottoms - what he had _seen_ her do, in Frank's memories - had stripped her of all beauty and appeal, had reduced her to a hideous, hungry creature soaked in sweat and filth and blood, a creature reveling in it. Her husband and brother-in-law had thrilled in it with her, and Barty Crouch, Jr. had slowly surrendered the layers of his resistance in the face of their shameless malice until he, too, was laughing, until he, too, delighted in it.

Severus felt the sickening weight of the memories in his chest, heavy enough to crush the part of him that wanted to be as young and dark and free as the witch dancing in front of him. The heaviness was in his hand, in his wand, in his magic, and though he was not as fast or as nimble as she was, when his spells hit her, they hit her hard.

Her Shield Charm crumpled beneath a Blasting Hex, and she stumbled backward, half-falling to her knee and gasping at the muted impact that had slammed into her chest. For a moment, her laughter ceased completely, and she glared at him with the loathing he knew so well.

He struck out again, but she struck back, again and again, she like lightning, he like thunder.

And then, in a strange echo of his thoughts, thunder rumbled across the sky.

He and Bellatrix both looked up, startled, because the sky had been a soft white-blue when their duel began. Now clouds were rolling in, bursting against each other in flashes of clawed lightning. A shadow fell over Godric's Hollow, a grayish hush that turned darker and deeper and greener with each beat of Severus's heart, as the Dark Mark Bellatrix had cast glowed brilliantly against the unnatural midday night.

Severus glanced back at her to find a half-frightened, half-elated look on her face.

"The Dark Lord," she said, awed.

From the ruined church, screams began to rise.

Severus lashed out at Bellatrix, eager to end it, but in the next moment a flash of green raced across the square, and he sprang away from her, tripping into the giant-trodden muck and falling to his hands and knees.

When he looked up, he saw Dumbledore, his yellow robes stained by the greenish light to a sickly hue, levitating debris off the far side of the church while the surviving guests crawled and stumbled and ran all around him.

At the front of the church, where the green light had come from, Voldemort stood. There were people around him, too, but they were not crawling or stumbling or running. They shuffled forward in a jerky, urgent way, and among them, Severus saw, were skeletons.

* * *

"Severus," Hermione whispered. "Severus!"

The church had come crashing down around them, and though Severus and Hermione had both cast Shield Charms, the sheer weight of the walls had nearly crushed them, and it was only Hermione's wildly shaking Shield Charm that was keeping the wreckage from crushing them now. Severus's Charm had flickered out without warning, and now he wasn't answering her. She wanted to turn and shake him, but she was holding her wand with both hands, putting every ounce of her strength into the trembling ward. She didn't dare let go.

What if he was dead?

"Severus!" she gasped.

"Mmm," he groaned.

Relief pooled inside her in soothing waves. "Severus," she whispered again.

She heard his ragged breaths, coming faster now that he was conscious, though it was plain he was having trouble orienting himself. He mumbled something, of which only the garbled phrase "'t'appened?" was audible.

"The walls collapsed," she reminded him. "And you -"

She broke off suddenly. A scuffing, shuffling sound had started nearby, and something about it, though she could not have said what, sent a spike of icy terror jolting through her.

Severus must have felt it, too. His fingers gripped her arm. Together, in silence, they listened.

"My lord," a hoarse, strained voice whimpered. She might have thought it was Pettigrew, if it hadn't been so deep. Perhaps one of the Death Eaters who had triggered her ward?

"My lord, our losses -"

"Do not speak to me of our losses," Voldemort's high, terrible voice whispered. Hermione remembered vividly the last time she had heard that voice so close - the night Snape had almost died, in the Shrieking Shack - she had been hiding then, too -

"But my lord -"

"Do you doubt me?" Voldemort's voice was so high and dangerous Hermione felt herself shiver. "Do you not see our numbers swelling?"

Again, Hermione heard that terrible shuffling movement. Footsteps… but were they footsteps?

"Yes, my lord… But the Aurors, my lord… It cannot be long, we saw a Patronus escape -"

"Let them come."

"But the giants -"

"We do not need giants. We have an army… Godric's Hollow will remember this day for centuries to come."

"But my lord - I speak for all your loyal Death Eaters - those of us who survive - we cannot fight -"

"You will fight," Voldemort said. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Hermione jumped, and her Shield Charm shivered. Severus's hand squeezed her arm more tightly as they heard the thud of the Death Eater falling to the floor.

Then a green light, paler than the Killing Curse, flickered through the cracks of the wreckage above her Charm, and she heard -

A twitch.

A scrape.

A moving body, without breath or life.

An Inferius.

And Hermione understood, finally, what the shuffling steps were. The bodies of the dead were climbing out of the wreckage at Voldemort's command.

Scraping, dragging, and clawing, Hermione heard Voldemort's army march past. She could feel his fury driving them, fury that made her cower and tremble while Severus pressed closer against her, whether to stop her from making a sound or simply for the warmth of another living person in the midst of the rising dead, she didn't know. She could hear Voldemort hissing something, an incantation, or perhaps only his rage: Hermione and Severus had ensured that the Death Eaters he relied upon most were now rotting in Azkaban, and those who remained…

After today, she could not imagine that many remained.

He had expected to win, that was clear. He would not have attacked the church if he had thought he would lose his few remaining Death Eaters, his giants, all of his advantages in the war. After the success of his attacks on the Muggle churches, she was not surprised he had expected this to be an easy slaughter.

It had not been easy. But Hermione was afraid, from the terrible quiet in the church, that it had been a slaughter. Were there others alive, like her and Severus, hiding in the ruins in terrified silence? Or were they dead? Harry? Ginny?

She felt tears form in her eyes, and shut them, though they burned with salt and dust and sweat and she longed to wipe them clean. Blinking fiercely, she fought to see, to focus. Her Shield Charm was still wobbling. If it failed, the wreckage would fall, and even if she and Severus by some miracle survived, Voldemort would hear, and find them.

She blinked again, her eyes burning.

Severus reached up soundlessly and brushed the tears from her eyelashes. She turned her head ever so slightly to look at him, at his bloody, dirty face, and he brushed the tears from her other eye, with a look of understanding and fear and compassion and determination so intense she couldn't stop new tears from welling up.

He wiped those away, too, then gave her a very Snapeish look: _Pull yourself together._ She drew in a steadying breath and focused on her Shield Charm again.

It stopped wobbling.

Finally, the shuffling around them began to fade. Hermione felt the cold of the winter day piercing the ruins and her skin, and thought with aching fear of all the people of Godric's Hollow - all the Muggles - and wondered if there was anyone left to fight the Inferi.

She and Severus needed to get out of the ruins. She could hear his fingers sliding across the dusty floor, and realized almost at once that he must be searching for his wand. She could see why his Shield Charm had failed, too - though they had been shielding themselves from the debris falling from above, they had not been shielded from the side, and a collapsing beam had slid across the floor and struck him.

She heard his triumphant hiss as his fingers found his wand. A moment later his Shield Charm had joined her own. She sighed in relief, then whispered, "I think we can get out on this side - if we can just stop it all from falling -"

"I'll hold it," he whispered back.

Cautiously, she let her Shield Charm drop. The wreckage stayed where it was. Tentatively, she began crawling through the debris beside them, finding gaps in the beams and stone until she was as far as she could go without losing sight of Severus.

"I'll hold it," she whispered to him, recasting a shield above him.

He slipped through the wreckage as she had done, and when he was clear she let the Shield Charm drop. There was a creaking, splintering, muffled _boom_ as the wreckage fell _,_ but Hermione could hear other booming sounds from outside - like thunder, she thought - and though she raised her wand in case a Death Eater or Inferius returned, there was no sign of either.

Carefully, she and Severus crept through the ruin. Everything lay in shadow, a strange, horrible, greenish shadow. Above them, the Dark Mark glinted against a blackening sky.

"It's not night?" Severus whispered in alarm, touching his head where the beam had struck him.

"No," Hermione whispered back. "Riddle must have done it - because of the Inferi -"

Severus's expression turned grim. Quickly, they looked around, half-expecting a corpse to lunge out of the shadows and attack them, but there was no movement.

"There's someone lying over there," Severus whispered suddenly.

"Do you think -"

"They can't be dead," Severus said. "Or they'd be with _him._ "

Hermione shivered, but nodded. As quietly as they could, they began picking their way through the wreckage toward the motionless figure. Ahead of them, the crypt gaped up at them, a stairway conjured of broken stone and wood leading out of its depths. The body was lying closer to them, half-buried in dust.

It wasn't until they turned it over that they realized it was Sirius.

Hermione glanced at Severus, who grimaced at her, but began checking for injuries. Sirius had a black eye and several cracked ribs. He woke up as Hermione was jabbing her wand at the first of them.

"Ahh!"

"Shut up!" Severus hissed.

Sirius struggled to sit up, then gasped in pain. "You -"

"We're healing you, now stop _moving,_ " Hermione whispered.

Sirius gave her an astonished look. She jabbed her wand at another of his wands.

"Are you a Healer?" he asked in surprise.

"No," she said, "and I'm not very good at it, so be quiet."

"What d'you mean, you're not -"

"Shut _up,_ Black!" Severus was practically snarling in his face. "There's an army of Inferi out there, do you want them to hear you?"

Sirius paled. Hermione jabbed her wand at the last of his wounded ribs and whispered, "That'll have to do. Can you stand?"

Sirius stood up, obviously making an effort to be quiet. Severus glanced around.

"I saw Moody over there earlier," he whispered, "trapped under a wall…"

With a glance at each other, they all crept forward. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the silence of the church or the thought of what lay outside, but they were walking far more closely together than any of them would have ordinarily done. Severus, in the lead, kept glancing back at her as if to make sure she was still there. She understood why: she was shaking, too, shocked and horrified, and far more disturbed by the absence of bodies than she would have been by their presence.

Moody was lying half-crushed in the wreckage, his wooden leg missing, his good leg twisted in an angle that made Hermione dizzy to see. His face was bloodless. A cut on his forehead had clearly bled into his hair, which was wet and red with it.

Carefully, quietly, they eased him out from under the wreckage. Then they all bent over to look at him.

"He needs a Blood Replenisher," Hermione whispered finally.

"Let's heal this up," Severus said, pointing his wand at the gash on Moody's head.

They healed it together while Sirius watched, glancing around every now and then to make sure there were no Death Eaters sneaking up on them.

"We need to find James," he said.

Hermione and Severus both ignored him until they had finished with the spell. "I don't know if we should leave him," she said.

Severus shook his head. "He's safer here than out there."

It was true. And Hermione knew, too, that they couldn't stay, because they had to protect whoever was out there.

"Did you hear me?" Sirius asked in a shaky voice. "We have to find -"

"We have to find everyone," Hermione said. "They can't all be -" She looked around the empty church, trembling. "Some of them must have escaped."

" _Homenum Revelio,_ " Severus whispered, sweeping his wand in an arc. "There's no one else here…"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Then they have to be out there."

* * *

Harry, Ginny, Lily, and the other survivors were huddled in the vacant cottage that, in Harry's universe, would have soon become his parents' home. It was one of the places Snape had chosen for a retreat, stocked with Healing potions, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and a Portkey they had already used to send the most gravely injured survivors to Saint Mungo's. With them still were McGonagall, Frank, Alice, James, and Mrs. Evans. Neither of the Snapes nor Hermione had been seen.

"We need to get out there," James was saying. "We need to fight!"

In the darkness of the storm Voldemort had Conjured, Harry could barely see the square from the cottage's window - not that there was much left of it. A few gravestones jutted out of the ruined churchyard, and the lone Muggle inn stood silhouetted against the sky, its lights flickering on and off. In the golden flashes of electricity and the silver flashes of the lightning, Harry could glimpse figures moving through the square, Inferi and Death Eaters, and probably Voldemort and Dumbledore, too.

"Harry," Ginny said.

He looked at her. She was ready to fight; they all were, except perhaps Lily and Mrs. Evans. Harry wished they had sent those two along to Saint Mungo's, but there hadn't been room, not with all the injured.

"Lily and Mrs. Evans need to stay here," he said. "And someone has to stay with them…"

Defiant and guilty faces stared back at him, and he said, "I think that should be me."

"Why you?" Alice asked suspiciously.

"Who _are_ you?" asked James.

"That doesn't matter," Ginny said. "Let's go. They'll be safe with Harry."

"Ginny -"

"I'm going," she said fiercely.

"I know. I love you."

Her face lit up with that blazing look he loved so much, and she kissed him. Behind her, James and Lily were having a similar goodbye.

Then the fighters left, and Harry stood at the window, watching them go.

* * *

The fight with the giants and the duel with Bellatrix had left Severus exhausted, but the sight of the Inferi jerking their way toward them in the rapidly falling darkness brought him to his feet with a jolt of visceral alarm.

 _Fiendfyre,_ he thought, but even as he raised his wand Bellatrix was firing spells at him, knives and arrows and hissing gobs of acid that struck his arm and leg and wrenched a scream from him. He slashed at her with his wand, and she slashed back, laughing again, delighting in the horror of it all, her face illuminated by the Dark Mark and her eyes blazing darkly as she watched him half-crawl away, his leg smoking.

His hand brushed against something rough, and he felt the lettering of some long-dead wizard's name beneath his fingers. A gravestone.

He felt a twinge of grim relief. In his obsessive preparations for this wedding, he had considered the possibility of being cornered in the graveyard.

He swept his wand, not at Bellatrix, but at the other tombstones. All at once, honking, blaring, squeaking noises filled the air, and a dozen Decoy Detonators scrambled from their hiding places under half-trampled bushes and bouquets to roll out into the dark, emitting bangs and puffs of smoke and, in a few particularly useful cases, cracks that sounded like Apparations.

The distraction was enough to pull Bellatrix's attention from him. With a hiss of alarm, she Disapparated. Severus tried to make it to his feet, only to feel his leg shake and collapse under him, still burning with the acidic spell.

Gritting his teeth, he split his trousers open over the wound, rinsing it with an _Aguamenti_ and gasping against the pain. His calf was raw, the skin burned away, and though he could barely see it in the green light, he felt a nauseated horror so great it almost overwhelmed the pain. He had seen acid burns before, a handful of times, in his Potions classroom, but seeing his own flesh mangled was another matter entirely...

While keeping the stream of water pointed at the wound, he reached up with his left hand to strip away the burned sleeve on his upper right arm. The acid there had only grazed him. The cold winter air was some small relief, so he ripped the tear wider, leaning back against the gravestone and watching the lightning flash across the new, hideous ridges on his calf.

 _CRACK!_

Severus jumped, pressing himself against the gravestone and peering into the darkness. That had not been the crack of a Decoy Detonator. Someone had Apparated -

 _CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!_

The sounds were all around him now, and he understood, with relief, what it must mean.

The Aurors had arrived.

* * *

Severus, Hermione, and Black had just stepped outside the church when they heard the first of the screams begin.

Godric's Hollow was barely recognizable. In the green glow of the Dark Mark and the lightning-flash of the impenetrable storm, the village looked ghostly, evil, cursed. Broken glass and rubble from the giants' rampage littered everything, while the groans of the giants themselves echoed up into the false night from their shadowed, fallen hulks. The smell of blood and sewage filled the winter air.

The screams came from a shop where a group of Muggles had evidently taken shelter. There was the crash of breaking glass, then more screams, higher this time. Though Severus could only make out dim shapes in the darkness, he knew what was happening.

"Let's go," Black said.

They ran unhesitatingly toward the Inferi. Severus could hear their creepy shuffling footfalls from every direction, more screams, more breaking glass. The corpses were raiding the village.

Hermione, the only one of them who had not suffered a blow to the head, reached the shop first. Bluebell flames shot out of her wand, catching one Inferi, two, all of them. The bodies stumbled backward, and Severus saw, with deep horror, that Remus Lupin was one of them.

He heard Black stop short with a pained cry, reaching out toward the body as if he thought his friend was still inside. The Lupin Inferius dropped to the ground, its robes burning with a cold blue light, its limbs jerking and twitching.

"Stop it - stop it - put it out!" Black screamed.

"It'll kill us!" Severus spat, but Hermione had already lifted the flames away, backing up until she was almost in Severus's arms. She was shaking violently.

"Remus," she whimpered. "Remus -"

Black was moving forward. "Moony -"

"Black! Don't!"

The Inferius raised its head, its empty eyes staring up at Black, its teeth bared. It was Lupin's face, but it bore no resemblance to the boy Severus had grown up with, and he could see Black had realized that as well.

"Moony," he moaned again. "Moony…"

The half-burnt creature began to move, picking itself up, twitching toward him. Hermione shuddered violently. Severus raised his wand.

But Black spoke the incantation first. " _Incendio!_ "

Lupin erupted in flames, bright orange this time, and collapsed, shaking, to the ground. Black collapsed, too, sobbing, and even Severus, who despised him, felt the horror of it.

Hermione, in tears, stepped forward, bent down, and put her hands on Black's shoulders, whispering something in his ear as she half-hugged him. Severus looked away.

And saw another band of Inferi shuffling toward them.

"It's not over!" he snapped. " _Incendio!_ "

* * *

Harry could see the groups of Inferi spreading through the village, with here and there a burst of fire as they encountered resistance. Ginny and the others must have split up - Harry could see fire in at least four different places. But would it be enough? There must've been at least fifty people at the wedding. Five or so had taken the Portkey in the crypt, another seven had taken the Portkey here. Between those and the survivors who were still fighting there were at least twenty people who had _not_ become Inferi.

Which meant there might be as many as thirty who _had._

And that wasn't counting the Death Eaters… Or the skeletons.

Mrs. Evans and Lily came to stand at the window with him. Lily was still crying. Mrs. Evans looked grim.

"Which way did James go?" Lily asked in a small voice.

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "They split up after they were out of sight. But so long as they don't run into Riddle, they should be all right. Inferi don't put up much of a fight once you use fire."

"Riddle?" Mrs. Evans asked, frowning.

"You know - You-Know-Who. His real name is Tom Riddle."

She looked surprised. "Tom? That thing is named _Tom?_ "

"I wouldn't mention it in front of him," Harry said. "He's a bit sensitive about it."

Lily made a strangled sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. Her mother ran a soothing hand through her hair. Harry watched, jealous and entranced.

Mrs. Evans caught him watching, but said nothing. She was looking at his eyes again, and his face, and Harry could feel her putting two and two together. If she realized what she was seeing, though, she didn't say so. She just put an arm around Lily and looked out into the darkness again.

"I should be helping," Lily whispered. "I don't know why I'm so - so -" She made another little helpless sound.

"It's okay," Harry said. He hadn't necessarily expected this - his mum had once stood up to James and Sirius without a problem, after all, and she had faced death without hesitation - but then again, she hadn't exactly picked up a wand and tried to duel Voldemort, either.

"It's n-not okay!" she whispered. "I'm a c-coward."

Harry opened his mouth to tell her that she wasn't, but with an angry sob she went on, "I j-just want to go home. I want to hide under a blanket and - and - and let someone else handle it - but all those people - they all came here because of _me_ \- and now they're _dead_ \- and I can't do anything! I should be trying to help! But I c-can't! I just can't!"

Harry looked at her helplessly, then at his grandmother, who was squeezing Lily close.

"I just want everything to be okay again!" Lily burst out. "I just want us all to be safe!"

Harry felt again, even more powerfully than before, just how young his mother really was. Not only young; sheltered. She was still clinging to an idea of home and safety at the age of eighteen that he had not had - well, ever, as far as he could remember. He didn't think he had ever thought of his time with the Dursleys as _okay_ or _safe._ Going to Hogwarts, where Dark wizards had tried to kill him virtually every year, had still felt safer than the idea of spending the rest of his life locked in a cupboard.

But even Hermione and Ron, who had had loving, supportive families, had never been quite this… helpless.

And Lily was married now. She was a woman, legally. In a couple of years she'd have a kid.

It was all so _strange._

He didn't blame her, exactly. He had come to suspect, from things Petunia had said, that Lily had been doted on as a child. It didn't surprise him that she was sheltered. But it did surprise him, perhaps illogically, that she wasn't the angelic ideal he had always imagined - the ideal that Dumbledore, especially, had encouraged him to believe in. Made up only of kindness and love.

Dumbledore had never explained how young and frightened and clueless she was.

But he could feel a little of what he imagined Snape might have always felt - a powerful urge to protect her, this beautiful crying girl in her stained white dress, so innocent that she thought there was still a _going home_ after everything she had seen today. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay. He wanted to lie.

He never had the chance to decide whether he should or not. The window on the other side of the room shattered without warning, and a ragged, bloodstained corpse climbed through it.

Harry raised his wand, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Evans said firmly, "Set it on fire, Lily."

Lily stared at her mother, wide-eyed. The Inferius started jerking its horrible crumpled way toward them. In life, it had been a Death Eater. Its mask was crooked, but it hadn't fallen away.

"The sooner the better," Mrs. Evans said, quite patiently.

Lily took a deep breath. " _Incendio!_ "

The creature went up in flames. Mrs. Evans opened the front door. "Why don't you show it out, dear?"

Lily hesitated.

"Try _Expelliarmus,_ " Harry suggested.

Lily took a deep breath, nodded, and pointed her wand at the thing. " _Expelliarmus!"_

The spell blasted the burning creature backward through the door, into the garden. Mrs. Evans calmly shut the door and locked it again.

"Now repair the window, Lily. And why don't you make it Unbreakable?"

* * *

Severus heard the Aurors shouting to each other as they took stock of the scene. He couldn't see them from where he sat propped against the gravestone, but he suspected that might have been for the better. In this eerie green light, his dark robes could easily be mistaken for a Death Eater's.

"Is it bloody night?" one of the Aurors said. "What's all this?"

"Is that the church?" another asked, horrified.

"Quiet," a woman's voice ordered. "Listen."

Screams, breaking glass, the moaning of giants, the shuffling of Inferi. Somewhere, he heard a crackling, windy sound that might have been Dumbledore dueling with Voldemort. He had seen a tornado spin up over the rooftops for a brief moment before something had brought it down again, and there had been crashes and flashes of colored light that could only signify a duel.

"The giants -" a wizard began.

"They're down," the witch replied. "Find out what the screaming is about - two of you in each direction. It might be Death Eaters, or it might be -"

"Auror!" Severus said sharply.

There was a pause, then light flashed from a wand tip, casting flickering shadows from the graves. Slowly, hands raised and open, Severus stood up, his injured leg shaking beneath him.

"Looks like a Death Eater," one of the wizards said.

"No," the witch said. She towered above the others, her short pale hair glinting greenly in the light. Severus recognized her at once, though she was twenty years younger now, perhaps even younger than him. The last time he had seen her, she had been stretched out dead in front of the Dark Lord after trying to help a group of Muggleborns flee the country.

"Those aren't Death Eater robes," she said. "Too many buttons. You were a guest?"

Severus ignored that question. "The village is full of Inferi. Forty, perhaps fifty of them. Most of the wedding guests are dead."

A few of the Aurors gasped.

"Voldemort is here," he continued. "I believe Dumbledore is dueling him…"

Savage glanced in the direction of the crackling sound. Bright violet light sprang up and stained the sky for a brief instant before dropping back down to the ground with a sizzling sound.

"How many Death Eaters?" she asked.

"Bellatrix Lestrange was here," he said. "I don't know how many others - there were several among the Inferi, but I saw none alive."

"Right," Savage said. "Two in each direction, like I said. Robards, start setting wards around the village. I don't want any Inferi escaping."

The Aurors scattered. Savage looked back at Severus. "Where are the other survivors?"

"Some went that way," he said, jerking his head. "There's a vacant cottage one street over, they'll have gathered there. But there may be others…"

"So long as they're not in the open," Savage said.

"Some of them will be fighting. It was a Gryffindor wedding, you realize."

Savage nodded sharply, then turned her head toward the distant duel. Light shot upward again, and this time it breached the clouds, and a ray of bright sunlight burst through for a few short seconds before the storm swallowed it again with a thunderous roar.

"Can you fight?" Savage asked, glancing at his leg.

He tapped it with his wand by way of answer, a white bandage unraveling itself from thin air and wrapping around the wound. "The duel?" he asked.

"The duel," she confirmed.

They set off across the ruined square, following the increasingly violent flashes of light that silhouetted the Muggle inn. Another sunbeam shot through the storm, then another. Severus stopped in his tracks.

Savage looked back. "If your leg's not up to it -"

"There was a giant here," he said, in a flat, cold voice.

"What?"

"I killed a giant," he said, staring at the empty crater. "It fell there."

Savage stared at the crater, its edges half-lit by sun, half by the Dark Mark. Severus could see the gouge marks in the muck around it where its fingers had curled like claws - where it had pushed itself up from the ground.

The inn beside them exploded.

Severus fell, hard, as something - brick or wood or something - slammed into him, breaking the ribs on his right side and cutting across his jaw. His ears were ringing, but not loudly enough to deafen him to the sound of the giant's undead foot slamming down on the cobblestones a mere twenty feet away.

He gasped for breath, and wondered with a real pang of fear if his right lung had been punctured. He coughed, gasped, coughed again. There was no blood, at least. But he couldn't move.

A few feet away, Savage lay on her back, gasping the same way he was, but with blood pouring out of her chest. In the slanting ray of sunlight through the broken mass of the storm, Severus could see a crooked length of metal jutting out of her body just beneath her collarbone.

Her fingers closed around her wand where it had fallen beside her. Gritting her bloody teeth, she pointed her wand at the creature and spat, " _Incendio!_ "

The fire rolled off the giant's calloused skin, sparking into nothingness in the air.

The giant looked down at her with none of the roaring rage it would have expressed in life. Its eyes were cold, empty, unfeeling. It moved toward her impassively, shuffling its feet through the muck and sewage and the pool of its own congealed blood. Savage gasped, spat blood, then snarled at it, but she was soaked in blood now, and Severus watched her wand slip from her hand.

Severus could barely raise his own wand against the broken pull of his ribs, but as the giant's feet came crashing down around them, he felt the dark, free, raging beauty rise up within him, and gasped out a different incantation.

Fiendfyre surged from his wand like a wild dragon and seared the giant's dead flesh.

The Inferius stumbled backward, waving its arms at the fiery dragon, which twisted and stretched and morphed into a serpent, a phoenix, a kraken, wrapping itself inescapably around the giant's defenseless limbs. The giant writhed, wrestling with tentacles and scales of blazing flame, then sunk, charred, to the crater from which it had risen.

Severus drew in a deep breath, reigned the fire in, and watched the flames shrink into a last defiant shape - a brilliant orange Kneazle - before disappearing entirely.

Savage was shaking when he crawled to her side, but somehow managed to gasp out, "That's a restricted spell…"

Then she was choking, blood gurgling in her throat. Severus cast a charm to clear it, and she gasped gratefully for air.

"Keep breathing," he ordered. He glanced around the square. He, Potter, and the Weasley girl had stashed Healing potions in half of the buildings surrounding it, but those had all been destroyed. There had been another stash in the graveyard… He glanced doubtfully at the mostly trampled mess of graves, then pointed his wand at it.

There was a crack, then a box came hurtling toward him, half-smashed, and filled with the ruin of all but a few bottles.

Savage started choking again. He cleared her airway, then cut apart her robes to look at the metal jutting out of her. It was a nonmagical wound, which meant the right potions would heal it with ease, but he only had one of those potions here - Skele-Gro - and it wasn't the potion he really needed. A Tissue Regenerator, a Respiration Draught - both were smashed, their contents mingled in useless brown slime along the bottom of the box.

Luckily, he had stashed potions outside of the square as well.

He had to clear Savage's blood-filled throat twice before the next kit arrived, looking somewhat battered by its journey from its hiding place in a Muggle's disused shed, but otherwise intact. Severus was far more concerned with Savage's blood loss now than he was with her lungs, and tipped the Blood Replenisher down her throat with a quick incantation to make her swallow. She shuddered, gasping in pain as the muscles in her throat contracted. By then Severus was uncorking the Tissue Regenerator, his ribs a constant painful hindrance to his every move.

"You're a Healer?" Savage whispered, looking baffled and dazed.

"A Potions Master," he replied, teeth gritted in pain and nerves. "If I were a Healer, you'd already be on your feet."

He tipped the next potion down her throat, then, after a ten-second pause to ensure it had made it to her stomach, tapped the metal shard with his wand to shrink it and pulled it effortlessly from her chest.

She made a startled sound, though whether from the sudden emptiness in her wound or from the spurt of blood that spattered Severus's face, he didn't know. Ignoring the blood on his face, he wove his wand through the air over the wound, incanting the spell that would return her blood to its veins, leaving her lungs clear as the tissue knitted itself back together.

Her lungs would be raw now, each breath tender and painful. He gave her the Respiration Draught, then began the diagnostic spells on her bones.

Broken ribs, a clipped vertebral disc. He didn't trust himself to heal those, nor were they well enough aligned to trust the job to Skele-Gro.

"You need Saint Mungo's," he said.

"You don't say," she replied, gazing at him in that half-dazed way. "Do you know Severus Snape? You look like him."

He gave her a curious look. He had never met her in his youth, not in his own world. "Do you know him?"

"I took him to Azkaban," she whispered. "He was innocent."

Severus remembered, suddenly, a glimpse of the flood of memories he had seen in his younger self's mind. A tiger Patronus, a word of kindness… and then darkness, terrifying and cold.

And she felt guilty for it, that was clear. It seemed unspeakably strange to him that his younger self - his other self - could inspire such feelings in anybody. He knew that he himself had never done so. When the Aurors had taken him to Azkaban before his trial, they had been glad to do it.

Then again, he had been a Death Eater.

"You look like him," she said again.

Severus looked away from her befuddled eyes. "I'm not him."

* * *

Dobby had been chasing the rat for what felt like hours, though it was hard to judge the time with the sky turning dark and the green Death Eater light bathing everything. At one point, the rat had disappeared into the church, and Dobby had been forced to wait outside, wringing his ears, because the wards kept him out. As the giants roared and the walls trembled, Dobby waited and waited, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Then the rat had raced out of the church again, and Dobby had known he had to follow him.

It hadn't taken the rat long to realize he was being followed. He had given a frightened squeak, run in frantic circles, then raced off in another direction, while Dobby bounded along behind him. A few times Dobby snapped his fingers, elf magic crackling from their tips, but each time, the rat dodged, and Dobby's spells went astray.

He was beginning to lose his breath. Then he saw something that made him lose it completely - the rat was racing toward a sewer grate, and was about to disappear for good. Dobby gave a wordless, disappointed cry, snapping his fingers futilely -

And a Kneazle streaked out of the shadows across the street, her eyes wide and dark and determined. The rat didn't see her until she pounced, her claws raking the rat's back.

The rat, with a desperate twist, tried to turn back into a man.

Dobby snapped his fingers again, and this time, to his delight, his magic met its mark.

The man, halfway through his transformation, opened his ratty mouth and let out a horrible squeaking cry, then shrank back down into his rat form.

The Kneazle, pleased with this development, sank her teeth into the back of the rat's neck and lifted him up.

"Good Kneazle!" Dobby said breathlessly. "You is stopping a very bad man!"

The Kneazle radiated smugness, but came forward and nudged Dobby, as if to say that he deserved some credit, too.

"Dobby is needing to catch his breath!" he gasped out.

The Kneazle plopped down on the pavement, apparently content to guard the rat until Dobby had recovered. Gratefully, Dobby sat down beside the fluffy creature, patting her head and watching happily as she began to play.


	32. Chapter 32

32

Dumbledore had never expected Riddle to put up this much of a fight. In the years since his rejection from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, Riddle had avoided Dumbledore with every means at his disposal, vacating any Death Eater haunts Dumbledore discovered, Disapparating from the scene of any attack the moment Dumbledore appeared. Dumbledore had seen, more than once, the fear in Riddle's eyes, strengthened by the Slytherin certainty that _now_ was not the time.

Riddle was still afraid now, Dumbledore knew, but he had evidently decided that this _was_ the time.

Was it because his forces had fallen? He had lost five giants, at least a dozen Death Eaters, and the mission that he had no doubt intended to accomplish with ease had turned into a disaster of as-yet-unfathomed proportions. Though at least half of the weddings guests were dead, the two he had intended to kill - James and Lily - were still alive, and Voldemort's attack would be seen as a failure if he fled now, with only Bellatrix Lestrange left at his side.

And yet it was unlike Tom to fight when a battle was already lost. And this battle, Dumbledore knew, Riddle couldn't win. He was a talented, brilliant, ruthless wizard, only half Dumbledore's age and gifted with all the advantages that entailed, but Dumbledore had already begun to disperse his (admittedly impressive) storm, and before long Aurors would be swarming through the village, if they were not already. Riddle had lost, unquestionably.

Still, the Dark Lord dueled on.

Dumbledore thought he knew why. Today's failure was only the latest in a string of failures that Hermione Granger and Severus Snape had arranged. After all the recruits he had lost, Voldemort would need more, but who would join a Dark wizard who had lost his entire force?

A Dark wizard who had killed Dumbledore, however, might be another matter.

"Foolish, Tom," Dumbledore murmured, too quietly for the younger wizard to hear. Voldemort, sweat glistening on his bald head and his pale skin flushed with exhaustion, swung his wand in a great arc along a row of houses, and glass burst from every window, hurtling toward Dumbledore in a shower of silver shrapnel.

Dumbledore Transfigured them into sand, almost too fine to see, and sent the cloud whipping toward Voldemort. At the last moment, as Riddle was preparing his next Transfiguration, Dumbledore jabbed his wand toward the sky and slashed it down, bringing with it a bolt of Riddle's own lightning, which exploded through the cloud of sand right in front of Riddle's face, melting it into blades of glass that slashed and tore at his lightning-blinded eyes.

Riddle shrieked. Dumbledore didn't hesitate. With another slash of his wand, he brought another bolt of lightning down, and this one struck Riddle full in the face as he twisted and turned to get away from the sand. For a moment, Riddle stood electrified in the middle of the street. Then he fell to his knees, gasping but still, incredibly, conscious.

Dumbledore aimed his wand at the sky again, and the clouds burst apart. Sunlight poured in, and all around the desperate, repulsed shufflings of the Inferi echoed through the village as they tried to find shelter from the overwhelming light.

Bellatrix Lestrange was at Voldemort's side in an instant, cradling his face, begging him to leave. Voldemort shot one last half-blind look of hatred at Dumbledore, then Disapparated.

"Why didn't you stop him?"

Dumbledore turned immediately, recognizing the sharp voice with a distaste he hid well. "Barty Crouch."

Crouch looked sour. "If you had -"

"Forgive me," Dumbledore said. "I have been dueling for some time. A Patronus was sent to your Aurors," he checked his pocket watch, "twenty-three minutes ago. I had not anticipated it would take so long to receive a response."

Crouch flushed. "The Aurors have been here for at least five minutes."

"Ah. In that case, please accept my sincerest apologies. Eighteen minutes is not at all unreasonable."

"There was a troll attack in London," Crouch said, unapologetic. "London has the greater population -"

"I quite understand. It would not have been possible to send forces to both locations…"

Crouch's gaze was sharp and unrelenting. "Not with our current numbers, no."

Dumbledore did not bother to hide his displeasure. "You will find," he said, "the remnants of an Inferi army scattered throughout the village. There are also five giants -"

"I saw them," Crouch said. "Where are the survivors?"

"I believe some have already been taken to Saint Mungo's. Under the circumstances, I thought an unauthorized Portkey to be allowable…"

"Quite," Crouch said.

"There are others who remained to fight," Dumbledore continued. "May I suggest we find and assist them? The Inferi have only hidden from the sunlight, they will not have been harmed by it."

Crouch nodded, and, to Dumbledore's relief, they turned in opposite directions to begin their search.

Finding and burning the Inferi was not, in theory, a difficult task. Yet the sight of so many faces he knew, turned cold and rigid and blindly purposeful, left Dumbledore with a heaviness in his heart that was impossible to dispel.

It was clear now that he should not have allowed this wedding to take place. He should have counseled James and Lily against it, should have encouraged them to celebrate in some small, private ceremony, surrounded only by their very closest friends. Instead, Dumbledore found himself cremating a former Defense professor of whom James had been particularly fond, a young woman who had been Head Girl during Lily's first year, and several of James and Lily's classmates.

He remembered all of their names, and made note of them. He made note, as well, of the many Death Eaters among the undead, some of whom he recognized, some of whom he did not. Though he used fire to burn the Inferius spell from their corpses, he left their faces intact; the Aurors would need to identify them.

And, of course, he left the faces of the wedding guests. They gazed up at him, still and unmoving, but with no sign of the release that could - and should - come from death.

A street away from the church, he found the bodies of two Inferi that had already been burned. He did not think Crouch was responsible; there were scorch marks up and down the street that indicated a level of panic and desperation that Crouch would never have expressed. No, it was more likely some of the younger guests had been here.

Whoever it was had not bothered to preserve the Inferi's faces. Understandable, in the heat of the moment, but Dumbledore frowned as he bent to examine them, searching for anything identifiable.

After a moment, with a deep sense of pity, he recognized the charred shoes of one, the spectacles of the other.

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

For a moment, Dumbledore considered the horrific possibility that James Potter might have been forced to burn his own parents. But no - he would not have left them here, sprawled out and smoking in the middle of the street. Indeed, Dumbledore doubted he would have left them at all.

With sorrow, Dumbledore levitated the Potters to join the corpses of the other thirteen bodies he had burned, then proceeded grimly toward the square. There, he found the four giants still grunting and struggling against their makeshift gags, while the fifth giant, incinerated, smoked from its crater. And in front of it -

Dumbledore frowned. He had not forgotten the strange, dark, hook-nosed man who had killed one giant and distracted the others. The wizard's resemblance to Severus Snape was striking, and yet he must have been at least twenty years older, perhaps more. As Dumbledore lowered the fifteen bodies onto the rough, trampled ground, he saw the strange wizard crouching over another body - Gwen Savage, if he was not mistaken. She was not moving.

Leaving the bodies, Dumbledore picked his way across the bloody, sewage-strewn square toward them.

The strange wizard glanced up at his approach, eyes cautious but relieved. Savage was alive, but covered in blood, her eyes dazed and focusing only intermittently on the stranger's face. Yet Dumbledore could see, from the empty potion bottles and the jagged remains of the scar in her chest, that she had been healed of whatever injury she had sustained.

The strange wizard was clutching his ribs and evidently trying to perform a diagnostic charm on them, although, from Dumbledore's first glance, it seemed that most of the damage had been done to his back.

"Allow me," he said.

The stranger - yes, the resemblance to Severus Snape was too pronounced to be mistaken, even the dark eyes were the same - looked up at him with a combination of gratitude and wariness and something else, something indefinable, that reminded Dumbledore of the unnerving way the wizard had laughed.

Dumbledore cast his diagnostic charm, and had to pause for a moment in wonder that the man was still conscious. Half his ribs were shattered. Dumbledore could scarcely imagine how they had failed to puncture his lung.

"You are very lucky," he said quietly.

"I've never felt luckier," the man replied, equally quiet.

There was something strange in his tone, and Dumbledore gave him a piercing look. But the man's eyes were impenetrable. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smirk as he sensed Dumbledore's evidently not-so-subtle attempt at Legilimency.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked.

The man hesitated. "Severus Prince."

"There are no living Princes," Dumbledore said sharply.

The man shrugged, his mouth still turned up in that slight smirk. "I seem to be living."

Dumbledore entertained, for a brief moment, the idea that Severus Snape might have ingested an Aging Potion prior to the wedding, but dismissed it almost immediately. Snape's Occlumency shields were not powerful enough to hide his hostility for Dumbledore, and though Dumbledore could not penetrate this man's shields, he had the distinct impression that the man, whoever he was, was pleased to see him.

Yet the idea of Severus Snape having a long-lost relative of whom no record existed seemed highly improbable.

There was one other possibility that sprang instantly to mind, but it was so improbable Dumbledore frowned at himself for even thinking it.

The man was watching his face with an intensity that Dumbledore had rarely encountered. It was not malicious; if anything, it was… longing?

No. Not precisely that. But the initial impression, that the man was pleased to see him, did not fade. Indeed, though the man's Occlumency shields remained firmly in place, he was radiating an almost imperceptible energy that Dumbledore could not help but suspect was joy.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

The man snorted, then winced with a hiss as the movement jarred his ribs.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested, "you ought to lie down."

The man gave him a defiant look, then, with another odd flicker of something indefinable in his eyes, obeyed.

In a quiet, wistful tone, he murmured, "As you wish, Headmaster."

* * *

The sunlight poured through the windows of the little cottage, lighting up Lily's mother's hair and glinting off the glasses of the strange boy named Harry. The boy looked so much like James that Lily had to blink away another swelling of tears from her eyes, brushing them impatiently when the sun sparkled off them.

The sight of the sun felt almost as wrong to her as the midday thunderstorm had.

From the cottage, the damage the giants had inflicted could barely be seen. The rooftops glistened, frost gathered on the ground like flowers, and if Lily could have avoided looking at the burned corpse of the Death Eater she had blasted out into the garden, the prospect in front of her might have even been charming.

But she could not avoid looking at the burned corpse. She could not pretend that there were not other corpses out there, burned like this one or still shuffling around. And they were not all Death Eaters like this one. Some of them had been her friends. James's family. Teachers and classmates. Neighbors and that poor old Ministry wizard who had officiated while she and James had said their vows.

Who would ever forgive her for all this?

She felt an insane urge to go back in time. To start today over, to wake up and realize this had all been a horrible nightmare. She would cancel the whole thing. Marry James in her mother's sitting room with Dobby right beside them in case they needed to flee.

She would give _anything_ to go back. Anything.

The ache in her chest was inescapable. The weight in her limbs, the images in her mind… She felt like she had been hiding in the cottage for days, but not half an hour ago she had been kissing James in the church.

Half an hour, and half the people she loved were dead.

Lily shuddered. The grief had been pouring out of her in tears, but she tried to swallow it back, to be like her mother, who was so strong, or like the strange boy, who was terribly sad and yet fierce in the way he watched the street and held his wand at the ready.

Lily had never felt so fragile or hollow. When the boy suddenly spoke, the urgency in his voice made something in her crack.

"Ginny's coming back," he said.

"What about -"

"James isn't with her," Harry said. "It's just Ginny and McGonagall."

They opened the door. The red-haired girl went straight to the boy named Harry and threw her arms around him, not speaking. McGonagall stood in the doorway, her usually strict face white and streaked with tears.

"James -" Lily gasped.

"We split up," Ginny whispered.

"But we found -" McGonagall choked off. Lily felt a deep chasm open inside her. If McGonagall was crying -

"Who?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"Flitwick," Ginny whispered.

They didn't need to say what had happened. Lily could see from their faces what they had been forced to do. The anguish that had been raging inside her for long minutes burst out in a sudden cry. Distantly, she heard McGonagall and Ginny echo it.

* * *

When the sun broke through the storm, Hermione and Severus stopped running, watching half in dismay, half in relief as the Inferi on the street ahead of them crawled into the shadows of bushes and sheds, shielding themselves from the light.

She and Severus were both panting, sweating, and bleeding, Severus from his head wound, Hermione from a long scratch on her face where an Inferius had tried to grab her before she set it in flames. She had forced Severus to perform about a dozen Cleaning Charms on it before she would stop hyperventilating, the thought of those undead nails digging into her skin too horrible to bear, but the healing spells he had tried hadn't closed it. She was both terrified and disgusted by the knowledge.

Behind them, Sirius stumbled to a halt as well. He was little more than an Inferi himself, in looks at least. His face was deathly white, his eyes empty and glazed with horror. Every once in a while Hermione reached out to him to pull him closer, afraid he would be left behind or mauled by an Inferius, but he barely seemed to notice.

"Dumbledore must have won," Severus said, glancing at the sky. They had deduced from the occasional flashes of sunlight before this that Dumbledore and Voldemort were dueling. Now, the sky was as clear as if the storm had never been.

Even the Dark Mark was beginning to fade.

Sirius didn't seem to have noticed the sun, at least not at first. He blinked, dazed and disoriented. "James?" he whispered.

At first Hermione thought he was beginning to hallucinate. Then she saw a familiar black-haired figure ahead, setting fire to an Inferius hiding under a bench.

Was it James, or was it -

It was James.

He caught sight of them a moment later. Hermione waved so he wouldn't mistake them for Death Eaters - not that he could, with Sirius's blatantly Gryffindor best man robes. James sprinted toward them, looking tired but relieved, almost grinning as he saw Sirius.

Then he saw Sirius's face, and stopped grinning.

"Padfoot…?" he asked.

Sirius shook his head, blinking at James, not speaking. His eyes were no longer empty, but bright with tears.

"Sirius," James said again. "Who is it? Not - it can't be -"

Sirius made a sound that was not a word, then tried again and whispered, "Moony."

James stared at him for long seconds. Then he let out a choking sob and lurched at Sirius. Sirius flinched, almost as if expecting James to hit him, but James threw himself around Sirius's neck and made a horrible heartbroken sound that made Hermione look away, tears in her eyes. Severus was staring at them as if he'd never seen them before.

"Why?" James moaned. "Why?"

Sirius choked out something unintelligible.

"It's not fair," James whispered. "It's not fair!"

Abruptly, Severus walked away. Hermione was about to go after him when James suddenly shouted, "What, Snivellus? Nothing to say?"

Severus turned around quickly, his wand tightly gripped in his fist. It could not have been more obvious he expected James to try to hex him.

And James had, in fact, pulled his wand.

"Don't," Hermione said sharply, both pained and disgusted. "That's the last thing -"

"Go on, Snivellus!" James yelled, his voice thick with grief. "Say something!"

Behind him, Sirius shook his head, put his face in his hands, and sat down in the middle of the street, trembling.

"Say something," James snarled. "Or I swear -"

"You'll what?" Severus asked quietly. "Hex me?"

They glared at each other. Hermione was standing directly between them, but they were both tall enough to see each other over the top of her head.

"James," she said quietly. "Remus wouldn't want this."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?"

Hermione thought about Lupin, dead beside Tonks, and about Teddy, who would never live in this world. Her heart already felt like it was breaking. Had she done this? Her presence here? Had her strategy, her lists, her actions brought them here? Or was it the law? Or something else they didn't understand?

"I know -"

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" James screamed. "HE WAS MY FRIEND!"

All Hermione could think was how much he looked like Harry as he yelled, and she felt her eyes burning with tears that stung as they slid through the Inferius scratch.

"This was my wedding day!" James cried. "It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life! And now - Remus -" His eyes were full of tears, but he dashed them away and stepped sideways to point his want at Severus. "And _you -_ you're still alive - you coward -"

"He's not a coward," Hermione said. She was reminded again, fiercely, of Harry, of how he had talked about Snape after Dumbledore had died, but this was different - this Severus hadn't done anything, ever. He had never been anything but innocent.

"You deserve to be dead," James spat. "It should have been you. You worthless - you ugly - you filthy _Slytherin!_ Where were you during the battle? Hiding away -"

"He killed five Death Eaters, that I saw," Hermione said sharply.

That obviously gave James pause. Then he sneered again. "I bet you waited till they were already down, didn't you, Snivellus? Went after the ones who didn't make it through the wards properly -"

"Through _my_ ward," Hermione said. "And no, he didn't wait -"

"WELL HE DIDN'T SAVE MOONY!" James roared, then gasped, as if even he knew how unfair he was being. Yet he couldn't seem to stop. "You did it on purpose! You didn't try - you wanted him dead!"

Hermione could see from Severus's face that he tried to stop himself, but the words were already out. "Unlike your late friend, I don't stand by and watch while others are harmed."

James exploded. Hermione wasn't even sure if he used his wand or an incantation. There was a sudden burst of scarlet light, and then an enormous ball of red fire was speeding past her, so close its sparks singed her robes.

Severus dodged to the side, and the fireball smashed into the street, tearing the pavement apart.

"Stop!" Hermione yelled, raising her wand. "James -"

A jet of red light shot past her - this spell from Severus - but James blocked it, the ricochet just barely missing Hermione.

"Get out of the way, Hermione!" Severus snarled.

" _Stupefy!_ " she shrieked, and James, whose Shield Charm was directed toward Severus rather than her, dropped.

Sirius had his wand out and was stumbling to his feet almost drunkenly, but Hermione Disarmed him and snapped out, "Not you, too!"

He gave her a hurt, broken look, sat back down on the street, and stared at James's Stunned face.

Severus came up behind her. "You should've -"

"You shouldn't have said that," she said in a low voice, looking at him.

His face was flushed, but not, she thought, from the duel. For a moment he looked resistant, almost angry. Then he said tightly, "It was… poor timing."

She felt a moment's frustration with him, combined with an exasperated fondness - that was the sort of half-admission of guilt the Severus Snape of her own world would have offered.

"I know what he said was awful," she said. "But you're…" She searched for the word. "Not a child."

"And he is?"

She gave him a look.

"And that excuses -"

"It doesn't excuse anything," she said wearily. "But you're not like him. At least I hope you're not."

Something sparked in his eyes, something intense and dark and fierce. "I shouldn't have said it," he said.

She squeezed his hand, both in forgiveness and appreciation. He squeezed back.

Quick, sharp footfalls had them turning swiftly, wands raised. A familiar dark-clad figure strode into view and stopped, his face hard.

"Hermione Granger, Sirius Black," Crouch said. "You are under arrest in violation of the Magical Marriage Law of 1978."


	33. Chapter 33

33

When Severus opened his eyes, he was lying in the middle of the street, an aching pain in his already wounded head and a second knot - a new one - forming on the back of his skull. He tried to sit up, saw stars, and gritted his teeth as he fell backward, trying to remember what had happened.

He had been Stunned. He could still feel the edges of the spell, a jittery, unpleasant sensation that, from a gentler caster, might only have been a mild tingling. But Crouch had not been gentle. He had seen Severus's wand twitch and the next moment -

 _You imbecile,_ he thought at himself. He could have used a Shield Charm, a counterspell, or, barring that, he could have dodged. Instead he had stared at Crouch in shock and outrage, and the spell had hit him at full force.

And now he was here, lying in the street, with a knife-like headache and -

And no Hermione.

He made himself sit up, then promptly vomited. He was shivering and sweating, his head swirling in strange directions. A concussion, then. Brilliant.

Beside him, Potter was lying where Hermione had left him, and Severus felt a strong burst of pride that her Stunning Spell had outlasted even Crouch's. She might have told Severus off for his comment about Lupin, but apparently hexing James Potter was more than acceptable for _her,_ the little hypocrite. And she obviously hadn't held back in the slightest.

For a moment, Severus seriously considered leaving Potter there, but he could well imagine what Hermione might have said to that. There were, after all, still Inferi on the loose, and though they were unlikely to harm Potter in broad daylight, there was no guarantee that the Aurors - who had, as far as Severus could tell, elected not to show up until the battle was over - would manage to find Potter before the afternoon shadows lengthened enough to place him within reach of the Inferi.

So, with a deep (and rather pained) scowl, Severus raised his wand and hissed, " _Ennervate._ "

Potter blinked, caught sight of him, and promptly reached for his wand. Severus resisted the urge to smirk (Potter's wand was in his pocket), but had to jerk back quickly when Potter, realizing he was wandless, tried to punch him in the face.

"You bastard!" Potter snarled.

"Don't be a fool," Severus said coldly, standing out of reach. "The Ministry has -"

"I don't care about the Ministry!" Potter snarled, jumping to his feet. "I'll kill -" He seemed to realize, suddenly that they were alone. "Where's Sirius?"

"As I was saying," Severus said, "the Ministry has arrested him-"

"AND YOU LET IT HAPPEN!"

"Though I am flattered you believe me to be capable of fending off the entire Auror Department, I regret to inform you that there was nothing I could do." _Because I was fool enough to let Crouch Stun me,_ he thought, but he wasn't about to admit that to Potter. "In any case, they took Hermione, too."

Potter, who had just opened his mouth to unleash what was undoubtedly going to be another thrilling insult, paused. Severus could only assume Potter had managed to grasp that Severus would not have simply handed Hermione over to the Ministry, no matter how gladly he would have turned in Black.

"I suggest we find Dumbledore," Severus said, before Potter could say anything else.

With a scowl, Potter turned to walk away, then let out a disgusted cry. "Is that _vomit?_ " he asked, staring down at his shoe.

"I think," Severus said, "that there are more important matters at hand."

Potter's expression changed, and Severus thought that he had, inadvertently, reminded Potter of Lupin's death. Silently, Potter Vanished the vomit, then walked away, though not before Severus saw tears on his face.

He despised himself for feeling pity for the boy who had tormented him for seven years, but he couldn't quite suppress it. The deadened look on Black's face had been worse, but seeing Potter cry - that was something Severus might once have believed would be amusing, but he found now that it only left him with a hollow, uncomfortable feeling.

He could not pretend that he had never wished for Lupin's death. He had wished for Potter's and Black's more, of course, but Lupin and Pettigrew had been a part of it, and Severus would have been glad - or at least relieved - if they had all vanished in a puff of smoke. Or blood, really. He wouldn't have been picky.

Yet watching Lupin's corpse shuffle toward them...

Severus felt uneasy at the memory, not because of the horror of a reanimated corpse, but because there was some part of him that had felt something almost like loss.

 _Loss of an enemy,_ he thought, but something else in him simply thought _loss_ _._

He did not delude himself about his feelings. He despised Lupin. He would never miss him, or even grieve for him.

But perhaps, after all, he had not really wished for him to die.

It was an unnerving thought. Did he not wish for Black and Potter to die, either? A few months ago, when he had been striving for acceptance with the Death Eaters, he would have said with certainty that their deaths would bring him nothing but joy. He could still remember feeling that harsh, vindictive thirst, the dark pleasure that filled his heart at the mere thought of it.

And yet, he felt nothing like that now.

When had it changed? In Azkaban? Or before, when he had watched the Aurors get blown apart? It had nothing to do with Potter and Black, he knew; they were as despicable now as they had ever been. Yet, though Severus was now a killer - had killed five people, according to Hermione - the idea of killing the Marauders filled him with nothing but a horrendous sense of nausea.

Then again, perhaps that was the concussion.

"So it was _your_ vomit," Potter muttered, as Severus bent over and wretched.

Severus would have liked to make a clever retort, but was too busy gagging into some Muggle's frozen flowerpot. When he had finished spitting and wiping his mouth, he straightened up to find Potter staring at him in a detached, empty sort of way. Severus wondered if perhaps the shock was finally starting to hit him. He couldn't help hoping so. A shocked Potter had to be an improvement over an angry one.

"You have a concussion," Potter said flatly.

"Well observed," Severus snapped.

Potter stared at him for another moment, then asked, "How?"

Severus didn't see how it was relevant, but he was still too dizzy to walk, so he said, "A combination of Crouch and Voldemort, I daresay."

" _You_ dueled Voldemort?" Potter sneered.

"No, he brought the church down on my head."

"And you survived?"

"Hermione was with me."

Potter snorted. "Always getting saved by girls, aren't you, Snivellus?"

"I don't recall any other girl ever saving me," he retorted.

Potter gave him a nasty look. "And whose fault was that?"

Severus gritted his teeth and started walking again, though careful never to get ahead of Potter. Though he had Potter's wand, he knew full well that Potter could beat him in a fistfight even when Severus was physically well. With the two blows he'd suffered already, Severus thought one good punch from Potter right now might actually finish him.

"She'll never fancy you, you know," Potter said.

Severus had no idea if Potter was talking about Lily or Hermione, and didn't particularly care. It was obvious Potter had decided the best way to cope with his grief was to ignore it in favor of harassing Severus.

Severus had to remind himself of what Hermione had said: _You're not like him. At least, I hope you're not._

It was the first time in his life anyone had ever expressed a preference for him over - well, over anyone. And he knew her well enough by now to know that she had meant it.

Still, it was hard to be the better man, or whatever it was she wanted, when Potter wouldn't shut up.

"You're an ugly, greasy, slimy git and no woman would ever -"

"James!"

Severus turned, startled and relieved, at the sound of Lily's voice. She was running toward him, her wedding dress torn and stained with blood and dust, her red hair falling out of its braids in fiery wisps. Her face was so swollen with tears Severus couldn't even see her eyes. She threw herself at James and started sobbing.

Behind her, their son (Severus's mind flinched from the thought) and his Weasley girlfriend kept pace with McGonagall, who, to Severus's shock, was almost as red-eyed as Lily, and Mrs. Evans, who looked grim and calm. Not at all sorry to leave the reunion taking place beside him, Severus went to meet the others.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked immediately.

"Arrested," Severus said, "because of the bloody marriage law. Crouch didn't even care about the Inferi, he just -"

"Crouch?" Harry asked sharply. " _Crouch_ is here?"

"He might be back at the Ministry now," Severus said, scowling. "Evidently he's more concerned with forcing people to produce squalling brats than with Death Eaters or Inferi."

"This'll only make it worse," Ginny said. "With so many people dead... I mean, none of them will be having babies now, will they?"

"But Hermione -" Harry said.

"We need to find Dumbledore," Severus said. Loath though he was to see the old wizard again, he thought Dumbledore stood the greatest chance of getting Hermione out of Auror custody.

Judging by Harry's look of relief, he thought so too.

They weren't far from the square now. Once Mrs. Evans had managed to convince Lily and James to pry themselves apart (with a sharp reminder from Severus that Black might well be on his way to Azkaban), they made their way down the increasingly rubble-strewn street until, finally, they reached a place where half the buildings in sight had been demolished. The anguished groaning of giants met their ears.

The square was no more than a ruin. Rows of burned corpses were being laid out, and Aurors from every direction were levitating more into the square. Someone else - Frank Longbottom, Severus realized - was moving from body to body, conjuring cloths to cover them. On the other side of the square, the smoking hulk of a dead giant lay crumpled in a crater. Directly in the middle of it all, his yellow robes almost gray with filth, stood Dumbledore. He was conversing with Alice Longbottom, who was gesticulating wildly.

"So many dead," Mrs. Evans whispered. Beside her, Professor McGonagall looked ill.

"How did we not stop this?" Harry said.

"It's not our fault," Ginny said sharply. "We couldn't have predicted this."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Harry said helplessly. "None of this -"

Severus gave him a warning look. "You have no idea what was supposed to happen."

"Oh, so you think this was supposed to happen, Snivellus?" Potter snarled.

"That's not what he meant," Ginny said, glaring at her boyfriend's father with narrowed eyes.

"Really? Then what -"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, in as strict a tone as she could muster through her tears. "I hardly think now is the time!"

Potter fell silent. Then, with his arm around Lily, he led the way across the square toward Dumbledore and Alice. Alice looked panicked.

"- just took them! I couldn't stop him, of course, he's my boss, but -"

"Are you talking about Sirius?" Potter asked, as they hurried toward Alice and Dumbledore. "And Crouch?"

Harry looked at him, then at Severus. "They took Sirius, too?"

Dumbledore had turned to look at them all. His eyes were full of a deep weariness Severus had never seen in them before, and something like pain flashed through them as he looked at Potter. Then he saw Harry, and blinked, startled.

Harry, whether deliberately or not, didn't give Dumbledore time to question his resemblance to Potter. "Can we get them back? We can't just let Crouch get away with this!"

Confronted by so many distressed and angry faces, Dumbledore apparently decided to reign in his curiosity. "Alice says Crouch has taken Miss Granger and Mr. Black back to the Ministry -"

"Not to Azkaban?" Severus asked, hardly daring to be relieved. He knew the Aurors had taken others straight to Azkaban since the law had been enacted.

"No. It is my belief he wishes to question them about today's events."

"We have to -" Harry and Potter both began, then looked at each other, surprised and, in Harry's case, pleased. Severus tried not to roll his eyes.

"We have to get them out," Harry said.

"I understand your concern," Dumbledore said, though he still looked like he wanted to ask who Harry was. "But Miss Granger and Mr. Black were both in violation of the law -"

"A disgusting law!" Ginny snapped.

"- and I doubt even I will be able to convince the Ministry to release them. Certainly not without proving their willingness to comply with the law."

Harry glanced at Ginny, who looked alarmed. "What d'you mean, 'proving their willingness' - you don't mean -"

"I cannot imagine any circumstance under which Crouch will consent to release them," Dumbledore said, "unless they are married."

* * *

Severus forced himself to remain conscious as the Healers brought him into St. Mungo's. Under no circumstances could he allow them to perform any magical diagnoses he was not aware of. In his own reality, at the age of nineteen, he had never been to St. Mungo's, but he could not be sure his younger self had not, at some point, been here. And if the Healers discovered that Severus was, in fact, the same person...

Severus gritted his teeth against the swelling pain in his side and listened to Savage's ragged breathing as they levitated her along ahead of him.

It did not take the Healers long to repair his ribs, but the acid burns he had received courtesy of Bellatrix were another matter. The Healer looked terribly remorseful when, finally, he had to inform Severus that the scars would never fully fade.

As if it mattered what Severus looked like.

In the bed beside him, Savage was sitting up, drinking another Blood Replenisher. Her bones had taken less time to heal than Bellatrix's wretched curse. Severus scowled when he caught her watching him, considered asking for a curtain, then dismissed the idea. Given that Savage had watched him cast Fiendfyre, it was probably better to make an ally of her.

But speaking of Fiendfyre… Where was Fiend?

He could not imagine she had been foolish enough to stay in the inn. But had she escaped? Or was she lying trampled somewhere in the mud -

He flinched from the thought, his stomach roiling so badly he had to swallow bile.

"You might be a bit concussed," the Healer said. "You took quite a beating. Why don't you drink this, it ought to help."

Severus glared suspiciously at the potion, then sniffed it and examined its contents closely. When he was convinced it had been brewed correctly (and not, whether through incompetence or intent, contaminated), he swallowed it. The nausea subsided, but the knot of worry in his stomach remained.

How many of the people he had intended to protect were dead?

Miss Granger? Potter? Miss Weasley? Lily? Mrs. Evans?

Everyone at the wedding, for that matter. But in that, he knew, he _had_ failed.

"Who are you?" Savage asked, when the Healers had left them alone for a moment.

"Severus Prince."

"You're related to Severus Snape." It wasn't a question. Her blue eyes were searching his face intently.

"His uncle," Severus lied, wondering if his younger self was enough like him to think of the same story.

"He doesn't have an uncle," Savage replied. "I've seen his family tree -"

"Wizards have been struck from their family trees before."

"Not in the Ministry records."

"If the Death Eaters have infiltrated the Ministry so deeply that they could enact this hideous marriage law, then I do not doubt they could alter a few records."

Savage's jaw twitched, but she didn't deny the possibility that the Ministry had been compromised. She would have had to have been very foolish indeed not to have considered it before now.

"Why would the Death Eaters want to alter your records?" she asked instead.

"No doubt to make it more difficult for me to accomplish anything without arousing universal suspicion."

"And what are you trying to accomplish?"

"Their destruction, of course."

"Of course," Savage said, still staring at him. "You were Eileen's brother, then?"

"Yes."

"You do look very much like your nephew."

Severus shrugged. "That is hardly unusual."

"No," Savage agreed. "But it is interesting that you, his mother's brother, look so much like him, when he looks almost exactly like his Muggle father."

Severus felt his stomach drop. How long had it been since he had been caught in a lie? How could he have been so stupid?

But how the hell did she know what his father looked like?

"You can imagine my surprise when Tobias and I were first introduced," Severus said, refusing to acknowledge the lie. "I don't think Eileen had realized the resemblance before then. She was quite embarrassed."

Savage gave him a skeptical look. He couldn't blame her. The suggestion that his sister (mother) would have sought out a man of her brother's exact appearance was fairly repulsive.

Then again, his mother had married Tobias Snape, so her taste in men was in fact questionable.

"What were you doing at the wedding?" Savage asked, evidently deciding to drop that line of questioning.

"I suspected Potter and Evans would be targets. It was my intent to protect the church." He scowled. "I admit I had not anticipated encountering five giants."

"You fought them all?"

"I killed the first. I distracted the others for a time. Dumbledore disabled them."

"And the Death Eaters?"

Severus answered only slowly. "As far as I could tell, they Apparated directly into the church, although how that is possible, I do not know. The church was heavily warded. From what I saw, the Death Eaters were affected by only one of the wards, and I suspect it may have been added after the attack began. It... weakened... several of the Death Eaters. No doubt the casualties would have been even worse had the ward not been in place. As it was, Bellatrix Lestrange was the only Death Eater I saw emerge from the church alive."

"How many Death Eaters were in the church?"

Severus shook his head. "I was never in the church. I do not know."

Savage fell silent, still staring at him. It was only when the Healers levitated an unconscious, mangled Moody into the room that she looked away, her expression suddenly alarmed.

"Please stay where you are, miss," one of the Healers said, as she began to stand up.

She scowled, though whether at the command or at being addressed as "miss" when her proper title was "Auror," Severus didn't know.

The Healers carefully lowered Moody onto a bed opposite them. Severus caught glimpses of twisted limbs, but when, a few minutes later, the Healers stepped back, Moody looked just as he ever had - only Severus could see, though the man's eyelids were closed, that both of his eyes, not to mention his nose, were intact.

It wasn't long before he woke up.

"What happened?" he growled, glancing from Savage to (with a narrowing of his eyes) Severus. "Snape?"

"His uncle, apparently," Savage said, in a tone that made it perfectly clear how plausible she thought Severus's story was. "All record of his existence has been removed from the Ministry by Death Eaters with nothing better to do than inconvenience him."

Severus flushed. He was obviously severely out of practice. Then again, twenty years as a spy had not prepared him for lying his way through an alternate reality in which everyone he encountered knew his younger, better self.

Moody narrowed his eyes at Severus in an expression that was intensely familiar despite the absence of his magical eye.

"He did save my life," Savage said fairly.

"Did he now?"

"He's a potions master, he says."

Moody eyed Severus appraisingly. Severus glared back. To his astonishment, Moody chuckled.

"They must be related."

"Same eyes," Savage agreed.

Tired of being discussed like a lab specimen, Severus said, "You were in the church?"

Moody's grin faded immediately. "Yeah, I was in the church. Where were you?"

"Outside, battling giants," Savage said, before Severus could answer. "How did the Death Eaters get in?"

"No idea," Moody growled. "Something happened down in the crypt. Two kids showed up - I'd never seen 'em before, but one of them looked like James Potter - and they said they had a Portkey down in the crypt to get people to safety. Snape said they were all right, so I sent people with them, but then there were screams - some kind of explosion - next thing I know, Voldemort's there -"

"They did not bring Voldemort into the church," Severus said.

Moody's eyes glinted. "You know who they were?"

"Harry and Ginny Peverell," he said. "They were there with me, protecting the church. We planted the Portkey in case of an emergency -"

"An unauthorized Portkey?" Moody asked, arching a brow.

Severus gave him a dark look.

Savage snorted. "A Portkey's the least of his worries. He brought a giant down with Fiendfyre."

"It was an Inferius!" Severus snapped, annoyed. Had he not saved her life, the ungrateful -

"Its final form was a Kneazle," she said, looking at Moody.

"A Kneazle?" Moody gave Severus an incredulous look.

"A Kneazle kitten, really," Savage said.

Severus glared at her.

She turned back to Moody. "So the Portkey must have broken the wards -"

"The Portkey did _not_ break the wards!" Severus snapped. "It is far more likely that the Dark Lord or one of his agents was already in the crypt -"

"The _Dark Lord?_ " Moody asked sharply.

Severus cursed himself. Had he lost all his skills? Had peace really made him so careless? "Voldemort, Tom Riddle, whatever you wish to call him -"

"You called him 'the Dark Lord,'" Savage said warily.

"Habit," he spat. "I was a spy among the Death Eaters for a time."

Moody and Savage both arched their eyebrows, glancing at each other. Severus braced himself for the inevitable flood of suspicion and hatred.

Instead, Moody said, "So you're Granger's source." He snorted. "We were starting to wonder if she was a seer."

It was Severus's turn to arch his eyebrows, mostly in amusement at the thought of how Miss Granger would respond to being lumped into the same category as Sybill Trelawney, but also in surprise. Surely they would evince at least _some_ suspicion? Even without knowing he had joined the Dark Lord of his own free will once upon a time?

"So you're the one who found out about Crouch's son?" Savage asked. "I think it was the shock of that alone that got Granger and Snape out of Azkaban." She narrowed her eyes. "Are you responsible for all these anonymous tips?"

Severus glanced at Moody, who arched a brow. Of course, in his capacity as an Order member, Moody would not have shared his source with a fellow Auror. Savage knew only of the names Miss Granger had given when she was first taken into custody, not that the tips that had followed had been hers as well.

"I daresay the tips were anonymous for a reason," Severus said, without answering her question.

"And what about the break-in to Azkaban?" Savage asked shrewdly. "Were the Death Eaters really responsible for that, or were you?"

Severus gave her a hard look. "Do you think I would send a nineteen-year-old girl to Azkaban on my behalf?"

"I have no way of knowing what you'd do," she said. "And I can hardly reference your records, what with the Death Eaters tampering with them all."

Severus flushed at her mocking tone.

"I wouldn't put it past Granger to go on her own," Moody said.

"No," Savage agreed after a moment. "She did seem a rather hot-headed girl."

The idea of Miss Granger, the sole voice of reason in the Golden Trio, striking others as "hot-headed" had Severus arching his eyebrow in surprise. Though he knew she could be rash and emotional, he still considered her to be, on the whole, more reasonable than could generally be expected of any Gryffindor.

So what, exactly, had she done?

Before he could ask, there was a soft, eminently familiar knock on the door, and Dumbledore entered.

"Auror Moody," he said, "Auror Savage. And, ah, Mr. Prince." His obvious skepticism for the last word made Savage and Moody exchange another irritating glance, but Severus was more focused on Dumbledore.

"Who survived?" he asked.

Dumbledore's expression, already sober, turned grim. "Aurors are still assessing the full extent of the casualties," he said. "It may be hours before we know how many have been lost."

Severus shifted impatiently, and Dumbledore asked, "Is there someone in particular you are concerned for?"

"My nephew," he said immediately, "Severus Snape. Hermione Granger."

"Both alive," Dumbeldore said.

Severus felt a weight lift from his chest. He wondered if he could mention Potter and the Weasley girl. And Lily, and her mother... and Fiend.

"It is to discuss Miss Granger that I am here," Dumbledore said, turning to Moody and Savage. "Although I am glad, of course, to see you both well -"

"What's happened with Granger?" Moody asked.

"She and Sirius Black have both been arrested in violation of the marriage law. They are being held at the Ministry -"

Severus was on his feet in an instant. " _Now?_ In the wake of a _battle?_ "

Dumbledore looked no more pleased than he felt. "I'm afraid Bartemius Crouch felt the circumstances of their arrest were irrelevant."

Severus seethed. If they took Miss Granger to Azkaban, he knew he could break her out, but the sheer cruelty of it all was almost incomprehensible. After what the girl had already been through, he did not doubt she was frightened. Did she even know he was here? Surely she saw Potter and Miss Weasley in the church -

"I believe," Dumbledore said, looking at Moody, "that Crouch might be persuaded to release them, if he had a guarantee that they would comply with the law -"

Severus was about to snarl that Miss Granger would _not_ be complying with the law in _any_ way when he remembered he was in a room with two Aurors. _Think!_ he ordered himself.

"Think Granger could be persuaded?" Moody asked, looking at him.

 _I hope not,_ he thought, appalled at the very notion. He could not understand why the entire Wizarding population of Britain hadn't moved to New Zealand the moment the barbaric law was passed. Perhaps _then_ the Ministry would have recognized the idiocy of their plan.

But it would be easier to get Miss Granger out of Ministry custody if Crouch thought they were cooperating. Severus would spare Miss Granger another trip to Azkaban if he could - at least until their return to their own world. But he knew full well what kind of guarantee Crouch would require. He'd demand a marriage under his very nose, if not the actual consummation.

Then again, Miss Granger was not a citizen of this reality. Could a marriage under this Ministry's rule even be considered valid? Certainly not once they had returned to their own world...

And once Severus had her out of the Ministry's grasp, there was no reason for her to comply with any further requirements of the law. He would take her back to their world and she would be safe.

"I think," he said quietly, "that if it were made clear to Miss Granger that complying with the law would allow her to return to her friends and family, then she might be willing to consider it."

Savage looked doubtful, but Moody nodded, picking up on Severus's slight emphasis on the phrase _friends and family._ Moody knew as well as Severus and Dumbledore that this was just a way to get her out of the Ministry's hands, even if neither of the others knew the full extent of Severus's plan.

"I'll pass it along," Moody said, trying to slide out of bed only to realize his wooden leg was gone.

"Allow me," Dumbledore said, conjuring a replacement with a wave of his wand.

Moody snorted at the polished wood. "Bit shiny, isn't it?"

"I'm certain it will become intimidatingly dull with time," Dumbledore replied, twinkling in a more subdued way than usual.

Savage was on her feet as well. "I'm going back to Godric's Hollow." She glanced at Severus. "Any message for your nephew?"

"Only that I am glad he is alive and well," Severus said. He hesitated. "And… I would appreciate it if you would keep an eye out for a Kneazle kitten."

Moody barked out a laugh. Savage gave Severus a smile, but it seemed like a genuine one. "Of course. Does it have a name?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at her smile. "Her name is Fiend."

The Aurors left, Moody still chuckling. In their absence, Severus was keenly aware of the man standing across from him, dusty and battle-stained, but indisputably _Dumbledore._

 _I killed you,_ he thought, staring at him.

"Who was killed?" he asked. It seemed safer than asking directly after Lily and her mother.

Dumbledore's face was grave. He opened his mouth for a moment, closed it, then sat down on the bed Savage had vacated. After a moment, Severus sat back down on his own bed, facing him.

There were tears in Dumbledore's eyes, but his voice was entirely steady. "James Potter's parents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, were both killed."

 _They would have died of dragon pox a year from now,_ Severus thought, but still he felt grim.

"Several former Hogwarts students were killed, including James's close friend, Remus Lupin."

Severus felt a shock go through him, a blaze of true horror. He had never liked Lupin - the man was weak, hypocritical, and a coward - but they had worked together for years to defeat Voldemort, and Severus knew (and had on one unpleasant occasion been forced to hold) the man's infant son.

A son who would never live in this reality.

"A former Hogwarts professor was killed as well," Dumbledore said, "one of our Defense professors, Gregory Gravelle…"

The man had taught Defense during Severus's fifth year. Severus had despised him, but Potter and his friends had loved him - unsurprising, as he had once referred to their tormenting of Severus as "good dueling practice."

"And one of our current Hogwarts professors," Dumbledore said, his voice sinking suddenly. "Professor Flitwick."

It was all Severus could do to control his expression. The grief that stabbed through him was terrible, deep. Just days before Flitwick had attended his birthday party - and now -

 _Our Flitwick is still alive,_ he thought, but it was a selfish, hollow thought. How many years' worth of students would never know him in this world? How many years' of life and happiness had Filius lost? And Minerva - Filius had been her best friend -

Rage surged through him. Had they not suffered enough? Was there any world in which Voldemort had not been born, a world in which his worthless rapist mother had simply thrown herself off a cliff and spared them all this pain? A world in which poor little orphan Tom Riddle had been flattened by a passing bus?

Severus clenched his teeth in fury, but his grief was still more powerful.

"I am sorry," he whispered finally. A whisper was all he could manage, without giving his emotions away.

It hardly seemed to matter. Dumbledore had closed his eyes, his face pale and worn.

Silently, Severus dashed his own tears away.


	34. Chapter 34

34

Hermione scowled at the familiar holding cell as Crouch ordered both her and Sirius into it. From somewhere down the corridor, she could hear the moans of what she thought might be a surviving Death Eater, still suffering the effects of her ward. In another cell, someone - she didn't recognize the voice - was calling out, "I'm engaged! I really am! I promise!"

Crouch slammed the door to the cell and locked it with a sharp jab of his wand. Hermione, watching him through the bars, wondered if she had ever hated anyone as much as she hated this heartless, wretched man. She hated Crouch and his well-regulated mustache quite as much as she had ever hated Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill, or Umbridge and her bloody one.

"People died," she said, "and this is what you care about?"

Crouch gave her a flat, unfeeling look. "You have broken the law, Miss Granger. The tragedy at the church does not earn you special treatment."

Hermione wondered, for a sickening moment, if her early obsession with following the rules could ever have turned her into this. If she hadn't become friends with Harry and Ron…

"The Ministry has decreed that is your responsibility to reproduce," Crouch said. "Your refusal to do so is in direct violation -"

"This law is a violation of every human right!" Hermione snapped. No, even without Harry and Ron, she felt certain she would never have turned out like this shell of a man. He was _evil._

"The Ministry disagrees," Crouch said.

 _Then I'll destroy the Ministry,_ Hermione thought, trying to forget that she was talking to Crouch from behind bars.

"Why are we here?" Sirius asked from behind her, in a hollow voice. "Why not Azkaban?"

Crouch gave him a cold look. "You are witnesses to a crime. When we have taken your statements, you will be transferred to Azkaban."

He left then, before they could ask any other questions. _Probably,_ Hermione thought, _to see if he can round up any more marriage law violators among the wedding survivors._

"I'm engaged!" the other prisoner cried again, but Crouch's footfalls didn't falter.

"Git," Sirius muttered.

Hermione thought that was rather understating it.

Sitting down on the edge of the cot, she tried to think. There had to be a way out. She had used up all of her valuable names in her tips, first to Crouch and then to the Order. After today, most of the Death Eaters who weren't already in Azkaban were dead, anyway. And she doubted Crouch would have let her go again, even if she'd had a dozen more names. Her plan had only worked last time because he had been so shocked she had mentioned his son. Now…

Now she had no advantages of information. She needed to think of something else.

She knew she couldn't call Dobby. The Ministry had obviously warded against elves, or they wouldn't have been able to keep Dobby in a holding cell before.

Would Dumbledore help her? He would try to help Sirius, certainly. But the fact that he hadn't been able to stop the law from going into effect - or protect Order members from complying with it - made her wonder if there was anything he could do.

Harry, of course, would be planning to break into the Ministry and rescue her. She shook her head. She wanted to avoid _that_ at all costs.

But if she didn't escape before Azkaban…

She remembered the freezing malice of the Dementors, their black frustration and rage when they couldn't Kiss her. The last thing she had felt before she'd sunk helplessly into her worst memories had been their cold, furious hunger for vengeance.

And then the memories… she imagined a month of reliving them, then a year, then decades...

She shivered. She could _not_ go back to Azkaban. Not without a wand. Severus had survived it for three months, and the boy in front of her had survived it for twelve years in her world, but she didn't think she could last a week. She had always been helpless against them. She could barely even conjure a Patronus. The only reason she hadn't passed out in their third year like Harry had was her lack of horrifying memories. But she had horrifying memories now. Many of them.

The familiar _clunk-clunk_ of a wooden leg striking the stone floor echoed down the corridor. Sirius was at the bars in an instant. "Moody!"

"Something you want, Black?" Moody asked coldly.

Sirius looked startled, then grinned, albeit weakly.

"Wipe that grin off your face," Moody growled.

"You could be seen," Hermione whispered.

Sirius finally understood that greeting Moody like an old friend might not be the wisest choice. "Let us out," he snarled. "You old cripple!"

Moody arched an eyebrow. Black shrugged, half-apologetic.

"I'd keep that tongue in check around the Dementors," Moody said, then, stepping up to the bars, lowered his voice. "Granger here, too? Good. Listen up."

Hermione stood beside Sirius in front of the bars, looking at Moody's much-less-scarred face.

"I'm to pass along a message to you," Moody said quietly. "From Snape's uncle."

"From - oh, of course," Hermione said hastily, blushing slightly at her mistake.

Moody watched her reaction with interest. "He says there might be a way for you to be reunited with your friends and family."

 _With my world,_ she interpreted. He wouldn't have mentioned her family, otherwise.

"How?" Sirius asked before she could.

Moody's face twisted in a nasty grin. "The Ministry might be convinced to release you if you've complied with the marriage law."

Hermione felt a stab of disgust. Snape couldn't really mean -

"Only way to get back to your friends and family," Moody repeated.

And Hermione understood. Comply with the law, and then leave this world before she had to… finish it.

"I don't think that'll work," Sirius said. "That bloke over there's been yelling out he's engaged ever since we got here, and no one's letting him out."

"Of course they're not," Moody growled. "He can't name any woman who would actually marry him."

Sirius made a face. "You reckon any of those women who sent me letters is still interested?"

Moody rolled his eyes. "You don't need a stranger, boy."

Sirius frowned. "What d'you mean?"

Moody gave him an impatient, mocking look, then glanced pointedly at Hermione.

"Oh!" she said, taking a quick step backward.

Sirius gave her a surprised look that quickly turned appraising. "You've got a point, Moody."

But Hermione was thinking about Snape. He couldn't _possibly_ have meant she should marry Sirius Black. No matter that Sirius had been dead for years in their world… Snape _hated_ him.

"I need to think!" she said. It came out as more of a squeak.

Sirius was still looking at her in that appraising way. "All right."

And, though his tone was still subdued after everything that had happened in Godric's Hollow, she could hear the easy confidence beneath it, and knew he assumed she would agree.

With a flash of anger, she sat down again, listening to the _clunk-clunk_ of Moody's leg as he went to interrogate the whimpering Death Eater. So they thought she should marry Sirius, did they? Handsome, wealthy, popular Sirius Black… who had tried to murder Severus Snape during their fifth year.

And who had, frankly, been rather unstable during _her_ fifth year.

 _It would only be for a few hours,_ she reminded herself.

But what if something went wrong? Could she really…

No.

Her entire body shied away from the thought. She felt cold and shivery, as she had felt when the Death Eaters had offered her up to Fenrir Greyback. She had watched people die, had been tortured herself, but she didn't think anything she had experienced had horrified or frightened her as much as that. No one had specifically said what he wanted to do to her. They had only spoken of _biting_ and _tasting._ But every instinct in her had screamed that he wanted something else, and judging from the way Ron had reacted, he had thought so, too.

And now… Sirius wasn't Greyback, of course, and he wouldn't touch her if she told him not to. But she had seen how he was with Harry, playing on his feelings for his dad and his longing to have an adult take care of him. She imagined being stuck with Sirius forever, and having all that bitterness and not-so-subtle manipulation aimed at her. She had never been the type of girl to make boys look twice, but neither did they seem to find her as unappealing as they once had. What if Sirius decided he wanted something, and she wouldn't give it to him? Could she be sure he wouldn't try to persuade her, the way his older self had tried to persuade Harry to do things?

The way he had no doubt persuaded Lupin to do things, like leaving the Shrieking Shack at the full moon?

Of course, she knew she wasn't going to get stuck with Sirius. Snape would never let that happen. Severus would never let that happen. _She_ wouldn't let it happen.

But was this really all she could do?

* * *

Severus sat on a chunk of the half-crushed couch he had found at the edge of the square. He suspected it had been tossed aside by one of the giants. It reeked of mud and blood, but it at least afforded him a seat that was not directly _in_ the mud and blood, and with a view of everyone else in the square.

Frank Longbottom had finished the grim task of covering the corpses, but just as he had stepped back, another batch had been levitated in, and he had been forced to start again. Alice Longbottom had joined him, but not to cover the bodies. Severus suspected she was trying to identify them. She had been in charge of the guest list at the wedding, and though many of the bodies were burnt beyond recognition (he and Hermione certainly hadn't thought to spare their faces), most of the cloth-covered figures now had gleaming ribbons at their feet, presumably denoting their names.

James Potter was crouching between two of the bodies, with Lily sobbing beside him. Severus wasn't sure who the two deceased were, but he thought they might be Potter's parents. Not far from them, Harry and Ginny were standing beside Lupin's body (traces of his scarlet robes had still been distinguishable before Longbottom had covered him), both crying and, Severus thought, arguing.

Professor McGonagall was helping with the first of the repairs, though Severus could see her face was still blotchy with tears. Aurors hurried in and out of the square, some of them levitating bodies, some of them shepherding Muggles, while teams of Obliviators and Magical Repair wizards were finally beginning to arrive. Mrs. Evans seemed to be helping the Aurors calm the Muggles down.

Severus, for his part, was struggling to remain conscious. If there had been any Healers, he would have flagged one down, but the last of them seemed to have departed with Moody. And taking himself to St. Mungo's was risky. His older self had been transferred there, and if the Healers realized they were the same person…

Severus briefly imagined the fallout of that, before the throbbing pain in his head spiked and the thoughts scattered. He rested his head against the couch's torn arm. If he could just sleep…

A small, soft weight landed on his thigh. He looked down at it, frowning.

A Kneazle?

Why was there a Kneazle on his leg?

And in its mouth…

"Severus Snape! Severus Snape! We is catching the bad man!"

Severus flinched from the excited, high-pitched sound, but felt a jolt of his own excitement. "Is that…?"

"The bad man!" Dobby exclaimed. "Wormface! We is catching Wormface!"

Severus stared at the ugly, rather severely bitten rat feebly twitching in the Kneazle's mouth. Even through his concussion, he managed to grin.

"Well done, Dobby," he said.

The Kneazle dug its claws into his leg.

"And you…" He stared at her. She was familiar, but he couldn't remember why.

"This bloody concussion," he muttered.

Dobby's ears fell instantly. "Is Severus Snape hurt?"

Severus had barely managed the word "yes" before Dobby was hurtling away through the mud and blood, his ears flapping wildly. The Kneazle glanced after him, then fixed its - her - eyes on his face.

She was very pretty. He was concussed enough that he didn't think twice about lifting his hand to pet her head. She purred, settling down in his lap, Wormtail - _Wormface,_ he thought, grinning - still firmly clamped in her jaws.

He hadn't realized he was drifting toward unconsciousness again until her claws dug suddenly into his leg. He frowned at her. She gave him a warning look.

"Stay awake," he muttered. "Yes, I'll…" _Sleep,_ he thought.

The claws dug in again, but he had slept through pain before...

A warm hand slid across his forehead. "I don't think you should be sleeping, Snape."

Severus blinked. A figure towered over him, but the voice had been a woman's. "Savage?"

"That's right. Shouldn't you be in St. Mungo's?"

He tried to shake his head, then stopped, wondering if he was going to throw up again. "Hermione," he said, without fully knowing why.

"Moody's gone to talk to her. If she can get herself married, Crouch might let her out. Although I'd be surprised if she agreed, after that speech she gave last week…"

Severus tried to focus on what she was saying. Hermione, married? Who would she marry?

Then he remembered the other prisoner Crouch had taken, and he sat up so suddenly that his head felt like splitting in two. In his lap, the Kneazle flexed her claws again. "No."

"No sudden movements, Snape."

"I'm not going to attack you," he said, baffled.

"Because of your head," she said, with an exasperated sigh. "Let me have a look."

"You're not a Healer," he said, not so concussed that he wasn't reluctant to have her waving a wand at his head.

"Speaking of Healers," she said, completely ignoring his attempt to bat her wand away, "I met a friend of yours. A potions master."

She could only mean one person. "My uncle," he invented.

"So he said."

Severus felt a wave of relief that they had chosen the same cover. His face must have shown it, though, because Savage suddenly stopped waving her wand and stared into his eyes. "Who is he really?"

She was not a Legilimens. She just had a very earnest stare. Relieved again, Severus blinked at her. "Can you fix my head or not?"

She sighed again. "No. I'll find Robards, he should be able to set you straight."

He must have passed out, because it felt like only a second later that a man's voice said, "Snape? Come on, Savage, he was probably here with the Death Eaters!"

"Longbottom said he was killing Death Eaters."

There was an unintelligible grumble at that, but a moment later the pain in Severus's head began to fade. Severus blinked in the winter sunlight. Robards was already turning away, still grumbling. Savage gave Severus a doubtful look. "Feeling better?"

He nodded. There was no wave of dizziness. "Robards isn't as useless as he looks."

Savage narrowed her eyes at him, but made no comment. "Your uncle's in St. Mungo's." She placed a slight mocking emphasis on _uncle,_ but continued, "You might want to see him -"

"No," he said. He couldn't end up in St. Mungo's.

Savage raised her brows.

"I need to see Hermione," he said.

"She's a prisoner."

"I'm her friend."

Savage gave him a pitying look. He couldn't blame her. Crouch wouldn't give a damn about friendship. He'd probably never had a friend in his life.

"Your uncle was missing his Kneazle," Savage said.

Severus stared at her. He suddenly remembered, as if from a dream, a Kneazle kitten featuring briefly in the glimpses he had seen of his older self's mind. But for him to admit he was _missing_ her…

"Is something wrong with him?" he asked.

Savage snorted. "Not a cat person, are you?"

He was suddenly keenly aware of the Kneazle's claws in his lap. "I only meant," he said, as tactfully as he could, "that I wouldn't have expected him to tell _you_ about it."

"Too proud of his masculinity?"

Severus flushed.

"What's that in her mouth, anyway?"

Severus recovered his calm in an instant. "Peter Pettigrew."

Savage's eyes grew satisfyingly wide. "Were you intending to share that information?"

Severus shrugged. "Are you going to take me to see Hermione?"

The Kneazle, apparently recognizing what needed to be done, bit down hard enough that they heard a tiny, horrible crunch.

"Put him down," Savage said, alarmed.

The Kneazle's tail swung backward and forward mischievously.

" _Down,_ " Savage ordered.

"Perhaps we could help escort the prisoner to the Ministry," Severus said coolly. "After all… I'm sure my uncle's Kneazle will listen to _me._ "

The Kneazle immediately loosened her grip on the rat, which sagged pathetically in her jaws.

"We wouldn't want anything to happen to little Peter, would we?" Severus said. "At least not before the Ministry has the chance to interrogate him."

Savage glared at him. He glared back. He had the distinct impression she wasn't angry at all.

"Fine," she said. "But no more broken bones."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Severus said, while the Kneazle tried to look as innocent as she could with a rat still dangling from her mouth.

Savage rolled her eyes. "Fiend, indeed. Come on, then."

Severus picked up the Kneazle as he rose. "I can see why he likes you," he murmured into her ear.

She purred.

* * *

"Sirius Black."

Hermione jumped. She had not heard Crouch approach. Yet there he was, standing at the bars gazing in at them like a shark eyeing its prey.

Crouch unlocked the door, then gestured at Sirius with his wand. Sirius gave Hermione a significant look. She shook her head. He gave her a long look, shrugged, and followed Crouch's order to step into the hallway. Hermione watched through the bars as his wrists were magically bound.

"See you," he said to her.

Hermione looked away.

The cell felt extremely empty without him, and yet it was a relief. He had been staring her down ever since Moody's suggestion, but neither of them had said a word. Hermione had wondered, from the intensity of his stare, if he hadn't been a little desperate to find a distraction from Remus.

She shut her eyes, pity and guilt swelling inside her. She could still see Remus's dead expression…

Maybe the empty cell wasn't a relief after all.

Long moments passed. Hours, perhaps. Her face was wet with tears, and her head ached, and she felt sick and sad in ways she had expected never to feel again. The Battle of Hogwarts kept playing through her mind, with all its dead. And now this attack in Godric's Hollow…

Blood. Screams. Death. She was shivering. Neville had told her, before the birthday party, that it would pass, and she tried to picture his kind, understanding face now.

 _It'll pass. It'll pass._

Inferi shuffling through the church -

 _It'll pass._

The footsteps brought her back to herself, at least enough to wipe her eyes. There were several sets, from both directions, and Hermione couldn't help pressing her face against the bars, peering out. From down the hall, the poor lonely man wailed, "I'm engaged!"

From the right, Crouch was approaching with Black a step ahead of him, his hands still bound. From the left, a tall blond woman strode forward, and behind her -

Hermione felt a rush of something halfway between terror and relief. _Severus._

But was that Fiend in his arms? And was that a rat in her mouth?

The two pairs stopped, facing each other, just outside Hermione's cell. Crouch looked angry. "Severus Snape will not be in violation of the marriage law for three more weeks," he said coldly.

"The Kneazle caught Peter Pettigrew," Savage said.

Black lunged forward without warning, snarling, but Crouch waved his wand and Black's entire body snapped backward, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

"That does not explain Snape's presence," Crouch said.

"He's the only thing stopping the Kneazle from killing Pettigrew," Savage replied.

"Why not simply kill the Kneazle?"

Savage stared at him. Severus bared his teeth. Hermione added yet another reason to hate Crouch to her mental list. Even Sirius, from the floor, gave Crouch a disgusted look.

"It seemed unnecessary," Savage said finally, in a tone that suggested she was inwardly reminding herself that this man was her superior and therefore not to be hexed.

"Fine," Crouch said, with an expression of contempt. "Escort the prisoner to a cell and remove the others from the premises."

Severus had caught sight of Hermione. He took a step toward her, and Crouch snapped, "You will not speak with the prisoner."

Hermione met Severus's gaze, flushed scarlet, and said, "Prisoners have the right to visitation by a spouse or betrothed."

There was a silence, during which Severus's face turned as red as she knew her own must be.

"Betrothed?" Crouch said incredulously.

"Yes," Severus said, his voice steady, though he was still redder than Hermione had ever seen him. "Hermione is my fiancee."

Crouch's expression was hard. "And yet, Mr. Black has just informed me that she is _his_ fiancee."

Involuntarily, Hermione glanced down at Sirius where he was still lying on the floor. He glared at her with a look of mingled disgust, betrayal, and disbelief. She would have felt very guilty indeed, if he hadn't sneered, " _Snivellus?_ "

Severus twitched, but Hermione thought he looked more afraid than angry. Afraid of what - her picking Sirius?

"Severus Snape is my fiance," Hermione said firmly.

Severus relaxed slightly. Sirius made a disgusted sound. Crouch frowned at Hermione. "You are in violation of the law. You should have been married months ago."

Hermione glared at him. "I didn't know about this disgusting law until a week ago. It takes longer than that to plan a proper wedding."

Both Severus and Savage gave her incredulous looks at that (and Hermione couldn't blame them), but Severus, obviously overcoming his distaste for the subject, said, "We didn't want our wedding to coincide with the Potters', you know. We had planned to marry this weekend."

Crouch's lip curled, though his mustache remained straight. "As today's events have clearly illustrated, a _proper_ wedding can hinder rather than facilitate the requirements of marriage."

Hermione felt rage crashing against the edges of her control. The slaughter at the church had been a hindrance to the requirements of marriage, had it?

Severus looked as furious as she felt, and even Savage was having obvious difficulty concealing her disgust. Crouch, however, was still looking at Hermione.

"If you comply with the law immediately," he said, "I will waive your Azkaban sentence. But you will marry at once, before you leave the Ministry. I will not give you another opportunity to delay. Marriage and its attendant responsibilities are your duty as a citizen of this country. You will produce children, or you will have no place in civilized society."

Hermione was shaking again. She didn't trust herself to speak. How dare he? How _dare_ he imply that her only worthwhile contribution to the world would be her children? How dare he stand there, violating every right of _civilized_ society, and claiming it was his duty? How dare he even talk about children, when his own would turn into a psychopathic Death Eater?

She would _destroy_ him. She would destroy everything he was trying to build. She might even destroy his child.

But first, she knew with sickening fury, she was going to have to get married.

* * *

Severus didn't think he had ever seen Hermione so furious. If he hadn't seen her fighting in the church, he might have believed she was capable of murdering Crouch on the spot. As it was, he couldn't help wondering what Savage would do if _he_ murdered Crouch…

Crouch, who had just told one of the most brilliant people Severus had ever met that her single greatest ambition in life should be striving to accomplish what even the most repulsive foot fungus could achieve without any discernible effort. _Reproduction._ Evidently the loftiest goal an advanced, sentient species could aspire to.

It could not have been clearer that the idea of marriage repulsed her. When it became clear that she was too disgusted to answer Crouch's demand, Severus said, with a coldness that masked his own rage and nervousness, "We accept your conditions. We will marry immediately."

Hermione managed a jerky nod, still looking like she wanted to claw Crouch's eyes out. As soon as he unlocked her cell, she slid past him and straight to Severus's side, so close that he could feel her shaking.

"Auror Savage," Crouch said, "you will witness the marriage. You will then return here and escort Sirius Black to Azkaban."

On the floor, Black jerked, the disgust on his face giving way to sudden horror. "I'll find someone," he said.

"It is too late for that," Crouch said.

"It wasn't too late for them!"

"They were already engaged."

Black opened his mouth, presumably to contradict him, then shut it. Severus could only assume it was out of defiance to Crouch. Black certainly wouldn't have hesitated to land Severus in prison.

Although perhaps it was Hermione Black was worried about. He had, after all, indirectly proposed to her. Even under the circumstances, Severus doubted Black would have done so if he didn't find her at least somewhat appealing.

And yet… she had chosen _him._

Not because she wanted him. He understood that, of course. But she trusted him. She would never have suggested it if she didn't.

If his arms hadn't been full of the Kneazle kitten, he would have at least been tempted to put them around her. They would get out of this. Whether they ended up on the run or whether they had to find a way back through Azkaban to her world, they would not bow to the Ministry and its despicable law.

But first, of course, they had to comply with it.


	35. Chapter 35

35

Hermione had to resist the urge to reach out to Severus as Savage led them down the dreary stone corridor to another row of cells. Severus's face was streaked with blood, his robes ragged, his face horribly pale, and Hermione thought he was clutching Fiend to his chest with just a little more fervor than was necessary. In Fiend's jaws, Pettigrew was lying completely limp, a foam of blood edging his tiny rat mouth.

"In here," Savage said, leading them into an empty cell. She raised her wand and activated what looked like a runic array on the wall – something Hermione would have leaped at the chance to examine, if she weren't shaking and half-numb – and said, "He won't be able to take his Animagus form now."

Indeed, Fiend, with a soft hiss, had dropped the rapidly growing rat. Severus stepped back hastily as Pettigrew landed in a human heap on the floor, unconscious.

"Out," Savage said, and Severus and Hermione followed her back into the corridor, watching as she carefully locked the cell door. She turned to face them with a grim look, taking in their battered, bloody, battle-worn state with the same barely-restrained expression of contempt she had worn when facing Crouch.

Hermione suspected Crouch was still the cause.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Savage asked.

"Do you have an alternative?" Severus replied, obviously trying to sound cold but really just sounding exhausted.

Savage stared at them for another long moment, then said, with resignation, "Follow me."

Hermione and Severus obeyed. Hermione felt herself drawing closer to him almost against her will, though whether in search of comfort or out of sheer involuntary terror, she wasn't sure. Her fury with Crouch had faded into a dull roar somewhere deep in her chest. She barely noticed it beneath the sick, wrenching unhappiness that was climbing up her throat.

Hermione had never been particularly romantic, but she had grown up seeing pictures of her parents on their wedding day, and she knew they had been radiant with joy and love and all the other things people were supposed to feel. Her dad had looked a little nervous in some of the photos, but it was a good kind of nervousness, the kind felt in anticipation of some mysterious but longed for delight. And though Hermione had herself, on occasion, pushed away her sentiments in favor of practicality or achieving a goal (Cormac McLaggen came unpleasantly to mind), she knew that she really, on some level, had always expected her wedding (should she ever have one) to be like her parents'.

Useless, sentimental tears swelled up in her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away. It was stupid to feel this way. It wasn't a real wedding, anyway; in a few hours, she and Severus would either be on the run or planning another journey through Azkaban. This was just one more horrid thing the war was forcing her to do, and she would do it with her teeth gritted and then recover from it.

She shivered. She hadn't even recovered from the battle that morning. She doubted she ever would. Was there a limit, she wondered, to how much she could handle? Voldemort and Horcruxes and Bellatrix Lestrange, the Battle of Hogwarts, the slaughter in Godric's Hollow, and now, mere hours later, _marriage?_

Savage stopped to retrieve Hermione's wand, which was a cool, small relief in her hand. She should have tucked it away, but she clung to it the way Severus was clinging to the Kneazle kitten. As they squeezed themselves into the crowded lift, Hermione ended up pressed against his side, and she could have sworn he leaned into her. She couldn't bring herself to look up at his face.

Was he angry with her? She had claimed her betrothal with him the same way Sirius had claimed one with her. She wished she could have at least asked, but there hadn't been time…

But it didn't matter. Because it wasn't going to last.

She took a deep breath, then another. The other people in the lift were sneaking glances at their bloody figures, but Savage's scowl seemed to be enough to stop any questions.

The lift jolted to a stop. "Level Five. Department of International Magical Cooperation and Headquarters of the Magical Marriage Law of 1978 Implementation Unit."

Hermione shivered again. She could feel the stares as she, Severus, and Savage made their way toward a hideously pink sign that read:

 _Headquarters of the Magical Marriage Law of 1978_

 _Implementation Unit_

 _Section Head: Madam Dolores Umbridge_

Hermione stopped dead. Her skin prickled as if something cold and slimy had slid over it. From the wand in her hand, a few angry red sparks shot out.

"Granger?" Savage asked, frowning at her.

"Umbridge?" Severus murmured, glancing from the sign to Hermione's face. If he had been in any doubt that the Umbridge here was the same as the Umbridge on her list, Hermione's expression must have removed it.

"You know her?" Savage asked, with an expression of distaste.

Hermione was trembling again, rage and horror and absolute hatred making it impossible to speak. It was several seconds before she was able to swallow her revulsion long enough to whisper, "But she won't be officiating? She won't be the one –"

"No," Savage said, still eyeing her curiously. "There are three officiants. There used to only be one, but with the law…"

Hermione nodded, the tiniest portion of her horror retreating. Umbridge's evil smile presiding over her forced marriage really might have been the final straw. Even now, her wand tip was still glowing an ominous red.

"Let's go," Severus said, his voice tight. "Get it over with."

Hermione nodded, resisting again the urge to reach out to him. When he led the way into the marriage office, she followed.

* * *

The Headquarters of the Magical Marriage Law were pink, and plastered with posters promoting the importance of magical reproduction. In one, a witch and wizard gazed adoringly at each other, surrounded by a literal horde of children, all of whom seemed to be sucking on lollipops. In another, a witch with a swollen, pregnant belly smiled vacuously, the words " _It's my duty!_ " curling in front of her face. Another still showed a Ministry official picking names out of a heart-speckled hat, with the caption, "Random Spousal Assignment – for when your heart can't decide!"

Severus had spent the morning killing Death Eaters and Inferi, but, somehow, this sickened him more than either. Brochures of wedding dresses and baby clothes were piled on every surface; guidebooks on "Meeting the Marriage Requirements" sat on shelves, while pamphlets on how to be a "Dutiful Husband" and "Dutiful Wife" sat in boxes by the door, obviously waiting to be owled to the public. Worst of all was the woman sobbing at the front desk, obviously begging to be reassigned to a different husband, while the receptionist gave her a sympathetic but clearly bored look, as if she had seen this too many times by now to muster any special compassion for this woman.

Severus caught Hermione's eye, and saw the same horror and hatred in her eyes that he could feel burning inside him. They would have to fix this – somehow, no matter what it took. If they could destroy Voldemort's splintered soul, they could end this monstrosity of injustice.

"Wait here," Savage said, pointing them to a row of pink chairs covered in red hearts and roses.

With another disgusted look at each other, Severus and Hermione sat down. Fiend promptly jumped out of Severus's arms and began tearing at the cushion of the chair beside him. Within seconds, bits of stuffing were beginning to poke out.

"This place is horrible," Hermione whispered, hugging herself. Severus didn't think she had stopped trembling since the scene with Crouch. There were smears of blood on her face and hands, though whether hers or his or someone else's, he could no longer remember. The scratch the Inferius had given her was red and inflamed. Severus watched her gaze slide across the room, landing on a catalog of rings. With a flick of her wand, she Summoned it.

Severus knew her well enough by now to know that she didn't give a damn what the rings looked like. He leaned in close to her to see if there was anything useful, but after a few quick moments, Hermione tossed the rag aside and scowled. "Rubbish."

Severus nodded. They could hardly have expected the Ministry to publicize any weaknesses their rings might have. If they had any, which seemed, at this juncture, doubtful.

Hermione was jittering now, her legs and fingers caught in a constant rhythm of movement that his heart echoed in some strange shared beat of anxiety. Even the ripping noises coming from the Kneazle's claws seemed to fit into the pattern. And above it all, unceasingly, were the sobs of the woman desperately trying to get out of her marriage.

It wasn't until Severus saw Hermione's fingernails digging into the skin of her other hand that he reached out and gripped both of her hands, stilling all movement. She looked up at him in surprise, then blushed and looked down, looking miserable and afraid and embarrassed.

"It won't be for long," he whispered, quietly enough that the soppily smiling couple in the poster behind them couldn't hear. "We'll find a way out."

Out of this marriage. Out of this country. Out of this world. He didn't say the words, but he knew they were both thinking them.

"It's all so wrong," Hermione whispered. He didn't have to look at her face to know there were tears in her eyes. "It's just so – so _sick!_ And all those people this morning – and we're supposed to think about _this?_ " She was shaking again. "How can they be so _evil?_ "

His grip on her hands tightened. She leaned against him suddenly, as if she just couldn't take it anymore, and burst into tears. His heart went out to her, or maybe he was just as much at the end of his rope as she was, because he felt tears sting his own eyes and had to shut them quickly. It was awkward to put his arm around Hermione – it had been a long time since he'd had to comfort a crying girl, and he'd never been any good at it to begin with – but somehow she ended up burrowed into his shoulder, her sobs much quieter than those of the woman at the front desk, but no less heart-wrenching.

He remembered killing the Death Eaters that morning, and wondered if he could do it again, to these people. Crouch, Umbridge… Whichever bastards in the Wizengamot had voted for this atrocity. And Voldemort. Voldemort had wanted this to happen.

Severus had felt so much loathing for Muggles and their society, their violence, their brutality, their lowness. He had been willing to join Voldemort for the chance of seeing them returned to their proper place, of seeing wizards rise up to rule again. He had been unforgivably naive. The things he loathed most had nothing to do with a divide between magical or Muggle society. If he had ever needed proof of that, this lurid pink office was it.

He had wanted to join the Death Eaters for the promise of greatness, of ambitions not only permitted but realized. No longer would he cower beneath the International Statute of Secrecy. No longer would his abilities or accomplishments be limited by wizards' collective resolve to hide like animals. Magic made him extraordinary, a force of nature, a bender of reality, a pivotal power in this world. He had felt, as a child, that he could do anything, become anything, if only Muggles were out of the way.

But it wasn't just Muggles. It was the Ministry. And he was not a child, he was a trained wizard. A killer. The only thing standing in his way now was himself.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione whispered.

She had stopped crying, though her voice was still hoarse with tears. For a moment he wondered why she had asked the question; then he realized he was sitting rigid, his hand clenched around his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. The tip was glowing as red as hers had a few minutes ago.

He thought about lying, but he was too tired. "Killing them all."

Hermione just nodded. "I don't know if I can."

Severus didn't know, either, but said, "I don't know what other option there is."

Hermione nodded again. "We'll have to think about it."

He knew she was serious. She had every intention of following through on her threat to bring down the Ministry, just as she had every intention of winning the war against Voldemort. Her ambition was staggering, and comforting, and elating. Never had he known anyone so determined to ignore all impossibilities.

He wondered if it was simply that she had never considered these things to be impossible – then wondered, with an inkling of realization, whether it was because she was Muggleborn, because she had entered this world as an outsider, unoppressed by the Ministry's immovable might.

Voldemort despised Muggleborns for the Muggle influence they brought, for the death of Wizarding traditions, but as Severus stared around at the hideously pink fruits of Voldemort's efforts, he felt that he had never wanted anything so much as an end to this world, and the beginning of a new one. Voldemort had promised as much – change, sudden and total. Severus had wanted it desperately then, and he wanted it now.

A world where he could be safe, and free, and magical.

"He's ready for you," Savage said, her voice startling them both. She eyed them pityingly, but said nothing as they picked themselves up off the hideous chairs and followed her toward a back office. Fiend gave the chair cushion one last rip and leaped after them, jumping from table to table and scattering marriage brochures everywhere.

"Hey!" the receptionist exclaimed. "No animals allowed –"

Hermione rounded on her and spat, "Just rapists?"

The witch gaped at her. Severus deliberately crushed the brochures underfoot, making sure the caked slime of mud and giant's blood on his boots left its mark. "Oops."

He only narrowly resisted the temptation to knock a torch off the wall and burn the whole place down.

" _Hem, hem._ "

Hermione froze, turning slowly to face the door that had just opened on the other side of the waiting room. Severus turned as well, taking in the pink, toad-like woman and her hideous heart-shaped bow with a lurch of nausea in his stomach.

Her voice was a horrible high-pitched simper. "Defacing Ministry property faces a penalty of –"

"It was an accident," Savage said, scowling at her. "If you'll excuse us, we're late."

Umbridge looked ready to argue, but even her saccharine simpering smile seemed unequal to the glare of Savage, who was at least a foot and a half taller than her and, at the moment, radiating danger. Umbridge fidgeted, her fingers flexing as if she longed to reach for her wand.

That was when Severus noticed the pink-jeweled wedding ring on her finger. He glanced at Hermione, and saw her staring at it with a look of deepest revulsion.

"Come on, you two," Savage said.

The moment the door to the waiting room had closed behind them, Hermione hissed, "No wonder she was so eager to implement the law!"

"I imagine the spousal assignment wasn't so random when it came time for her to pick," Severus said darkly.

They shared a repulsed look.

Savage had her Auror face back on. "Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, this is Mr. Ropes. He'll be officiating the ceremony."

Mr. Ropes was a neat little man in red robes and a heart-dotted cravat. He was visibly taken aback by the sight of them. "Good heavens! What is this? Is that _blood?_ My dear young people, I understand this marriage may not be what you always dreamed of, but I think it is at the very least an occasion worthy of a bath!"

Hermione stared at him. Severus pulled himself together enough to sneer. "We spent the morning killing Death Eaters and Inferi. What better way to celebrate our marriage than covered in the blood of our enemies?"

Mr. Ropes took a step back, looking alarmed.

"Get on with it," Savage snapped. "I'd like to catch a few Death Eaters myself before the day ends."

"Of – of course. But Miss – Granger, was it? Surely you at least want to wear dress robes? I have a store here in my closet, for emergencies – this is, after all, a special occasion -"

Hermione bared her teeth, and said in a viciously sweet voice Severus had never heard from her before, "But Mr. Ropes, I _am_ wearing dress robes. We just came from a wedding, you see. It was _very_ special."

Mr. Ropes gulped. "Well – perhaps a quick Color Charm – to make it white?" he finished weakly. "We sell photos, you know."

"I think their robes are sufficient," Savage said.

"Well, then – they'll need to pick out some rings – would you like to choose from our complimentary selection, or would you prefer one of our more costly, but really very fine –"

"Complimentary will do," Savage said impatiently.

Hermione and Severus exchanged a grim look, then stepped forward to look at the paltry selection of rings in the box Mr. Ropes had just opened.

"Silver?" Severus asked, just as Hermione murmured, "Gold?"

They glanced at each other, not so much smiling as grimacing. "Silver is fine," Hermione said with a shrug.

"We'll take gold," Severus told Mr. Ropes.

"Very well, very well," Mr. Ropes said, chuckling. "You settled that dispute much quicker than most, I must say! Bodes well for your future." He winked at Severus. "The wife is always right, you know."

Neither Severus nor Hermione dignified that with an answer.

Mr. Ropes laid their rings out on a cushion, rubbed his hands together, and said, "Now – would you like to say the standard Ministry vows, or your own?"

"Our own," Severus and Hermione said together, glancing at each other in clear agreement: whatever the Ministry wanted them to promise, they'd rather cut their own tongues out than say it.

"Very well," Mr. Ropes said, his smile only slightly dampened by their demeanor. Severus supposed he must have married many people unhappier than the two of them.

"We gather here today," he said, glancing around the mostly empty room in dissatisfaction, "to celebrate the union of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. Marriage is every witch and wizard's responsibility –"

"Let's keep this quick, shall we?" Savage said, though whether because of her own impatience to get back to Godric's Hollow or because of the looks on Severus's and Hermione's faces, Severus couldn't tell.

"Very well, very well. You have vows?"

Severus turned to Hermione, his gut suddenly twisting in nerves. He wasn't sure which of them was supposed to start.

Hermione didn't wait for Mr. Ropes to direct them. Taking a deep breath (and no doubt summoning her Gryffindor courage, which she clearly needed), she said, "I vow to protect you, to respect you, and to fight by your side." Her face, which had been deathly pale a moment ago, was rapidly turning red. "Oh, and to protect everyone you care about." She bit her lip.

Severus took a deep breath of his own, and said, "I vow to protect you, to respect you, and to fight by your side." He arched an eyebrow at her. "And to help you achieve all of your greatest ambitions."

Something flashed in her eyes at that, and a look of fiery determination spread across her face.

 _To destroy Voldemort,_ they were both thinking. _To end the marriage law. To topple the Ministry._

"Lovely, lovely," Mr. Ropes said. "Now the rings…"

With distaste, and a strange, inexplicable twist of his stomach, Severus slid Hermione's ring onto her finger, and held out his hand for her to do the same. He could only hope she didn't notice that his hand was trembling.

Mr. Ropes beamed. "I declare you bound. You may seal your union with a kiss."

"That's not necessary," Severus said quickly.

Mr. Ropes gave him a stern look. "I'm afraid it is. For the rings to activate, there must be a kiss."

Severus didn't dare look at Hermione. He thought it likely that she already suspected he had never kissed a girl before, but that wasn't what worried him. He knew perfectly well how much appeal he held, and now, covered in blood and grime and with the lingering taste of his post-concussion vomit probably still clinging to his teeth, he was no doubt utterly repulsive.

Trusting Severus to marry her without taking advantage was one thing. Kissing him was another entirely. Severus couldn't imagine she would want –

Her hand, warm and clumsy, cupped his cheek and turned his face toward her. If he had been trembling when she put the ring on his finger, it was nothing compared to the shiver that raced through him now. He resisted the urge to jerk away from her.

He thought he might have made some kind of jerky half-motion toward her. He was certain she bobbed up on her toes to reach him. Then their mouths brushed together for a clumsy, terrifying moment, and it was over.

The ring on his finger burned.

* * *

If the situation hadn't been so utterly hideous, Hermione might have felt a twinge of amusement at Severus's utter petrification at the prospect of a kiss. But it wasn't funny; people all over the country were having to kiss people they didn't want to, and more. It made her feel sick and angry and hopeless, and she felt a deep well of sadness for Severus, who had probably never kissed a girl before, and who had probably always intended his first kiss to go to Lily.

The kiss was clumsy and, really, meaningless. The emptiness of it left Hermione feeling a dull, cold numbness in all of her limbs. Only her eyes and her ring finger were burning.

The ring glowed for a moment, not with a comforting light, but with a twisted sort of bitter yellow. Then it dulled, and she was left staring at her new wedding ring.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Snape," Mr. Ropes said cheerfully.

"Are we finished?" Savage asked, sounding angry.

"Not quite! These two young people need to know the requirements."

"We already –"

"I'm afraid I'm legally bound to inform you, Mrs. Snape, there's no getting around it." He took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling, as if preparing himself to recite something from memory. "The marriage must be consummated within twenty-four hours. If it is not, your names and locations will appear on a report of violators, and Aurors will arrive to arrest you. After consummation, copulation is required once per week. Again, violation will result in your immediate arrest. The use of contraceptives will prevent copulation from registering with the Ministry tracking system, and will result in your immediate arrest. When conception occurs, your rings will glow blue, indicating that copulation will not be required for one year. Couples must report to St. Mungo's within one week of conception, or risk a fine. At the end of the year, copulation will be required to resume. You will receive a letter from the Ministry reminding you of this. Your ring will also remind you of approaching deadlines. The ring will heat and glow red if you are within one hour of failing to meet your copulation requirements. If this occurs, you must copulate immediately. Failure to do so will result in your immediate arrest."

Hermione wasn't sure if it was the phrase "you must copulate immediately" or the revolted look on Severus's face that triggered it, but a shrill noise suddenly emerged from her throat, a hysterical sound that was halfway between a laugh and a shriek. Mr. Ropes jumped, startled, but Severus gave her a sympathetic look.

"Is that all?" Savage asked, her own face tinged with red.

Mr. Ropes cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, I think that is everything. No, one more thing. Removal of the ring will result in your immediate arrest. There, that's that. Would you like a photograph?"

Savage gave him a withering look. "No, thank you." She jerked her head at the door, and Hermione and Severus followed.

Hermione cast an apprehensive look toward Umbridge's office, but the door was once more closed. The brochures had been put in order, although Hermione was happy to see that the chair Fiend had mangled had not been repaired. The receptionist gave them a dirty look as they left, but Hermione barely spared her a glance; her desire to escape the pink room was too overwhelming.

She shot another furious glance at the sign outside as they left, then stopped short.

"Umbridge," she said.

"Where?" Severus asked, looking around.

"No," Hermione said, " _Umbridge._ But she's married. So shouldn't her name have changed?" She was still keenly aware of how Mr. Ropes had called her _Mrs. Snape._

"She just changed it back," Savage said. "What with her husband getting arrested."

"Her husband?" Hermione asked, baffled.

Savage arched her brows. "You turned him in. He was a Death Eater."

Hermione and Severus shot each other alarmed glances. "Who?"

Savage glanced back at the pink office, disgust in every line of her face. "Augustus Rookwood."


	36. Chapter 36

36

By the time Severus and Dumbledore Apparated back to Godric's Hollow, it was difficult to tell that a battle had ever taken place. The giants were gone, the ruined mess of mud, blood, and sewage smoothed over with a clean layer of cobblestone that glittered in the frosty afternoon. Even as Severus turned to survey the wreckage of smashed buildings, beams were fitting themselves into place, bricks piling themselves neatly over layers of mortar, glass tucking itself into window frames. Magical repair wizards darted in and out of the surrounding structures in a constant flurry of activity, while Aurors paced between the rows of covered bodies, some of them taking notes in pads of paper or on rolls of parchment.

Only the church remained untouched, the curse damage to its crumpled heap far more difficult to repair than the blunt force of the giants. The church's skeleton jutted out in charred black and ashen gray, glittering here and there with shards of stained glass. On the steps beneath its broken doorframe, a lone figure was sitting, as ashen as the church behind her.

She looked up, perhaps at the sound of their Apparation, perhaps at the glimpse of Dumbledore's yellow robes. Severus should have looked away, but he stood frozen as her gaze met his, feeling a jolt as recognition passed over her face.

Dumbledore was already striding toward the Aurors. With a spiky feeling of nervous uncertainty expanding in his belly, Severus turned the other way and crossed the square to the church.

"Mrs. Evans," he said.

She looked battered, her Muggle dress torn and so covered in dust that its original color was impossible to discern. Yet her face, though weary, was clear of any injury, and she searched his face for several moments before saying, "You're Severus, aren't you?"

"Severus Prince," he said firmly. "I believe you know my nephew."

She stared at him for several seconds, her green eyes darting over his worn figure before returning to meet his gaze. He, in turn, searched her for any signs of shock, but though she was trembling, he thought it had more to do with the cold and her inadequate attire than with any trauma – though the trauma, he knew, must be affecting her. She could not have seen anything like this massacre before. He could not imagine what she must think of it – of them, of wizards, and of the evil they had brought into her life and her daughter's.

He unclasped his cloak and stepped up the stone stairs to hand it to her. She tucked herself under it as if it were a blanket. "Thank you, Severus."

He hesitated, and she added, "Won't you sit down?"

The question was so familiar, and yet it had been decades since he had heard it. He felt a strange wave of nostalgia and grief rise up in him as he sat down beside her. He had no idea what to say.

"I remember the first time I saw you," she said suddenly.

He looked at her, not sure what she could mean.

"You were hiding in the bushes by the playground, watching Lily."

Severus opened his mouth to object, then shut it, another wave of that painful nostalgia washing over him.

"I'm sure you thought you were very well hidden," she said. "But I'm afraid there was a gap in the bushes that I was quite tall enough to see though, and there you were. Not just once, either. I think you were there every day for a month before I finally left Lily and Petunia alone. I thought maybe you would work up the nerve to talk to them if I wasn't there. I was sure I was intimidating you."

He hesitated, then said, "You were not half as intimidating as Petunia."

She smiled, a sad, weary smile that he didn't remember from the Mrs. Evans of his own world. "Petunia wasn't here today, you know. I was heartbroken this morning, but now I couldn't be more relieved."

"And your husband?"

"He made it out alive, thank heavens." She paused. "Although I think perhaps I should be thanking my grandson."

Severus gave her a surprised, wondering look, which she answered with an arched brow. "I may be a Muggle, Severus, but I think I can recognize my own family." She smiled again. "And you. There was a time when I saw you almost as often as I saw my own daughters."

Severus gave her a rueful look. "Your house had many charms that my own did not."

"Like Lily."

"And you," he said quietly. "You showed me more kindness than my own mother ever did."

Surprised pity welled in her eyes, and Severus looked away from the glisten of her tears. She slid a hand out from beneath his cloak and squeezed his shoulder. "You're a good man, Severus."

"I am not," he said quietly. "I made mistakes that the Severus you know has chosen not to make. Lily died because of me."

The hand on his shoulder tightened, but Mrs. Evans didn't let go. "And now you've come back to fix it."

He shook his head, his throat tight. "There is no fixing what I did. This is not my world. You are not the Mrs. Evans I knew… I am not from your future, but the future of another world, very much like yours but not identical. I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that your Lily does not die as my Lily did, but nothing will ever undo what I did to _her._ "

"What did you do?"

"I overheard part of a prophecy predicting the birth of a wizard destined to defeat the Dark Lord. I told the Dark Lord what I had heard… and he concluded that your grandson was the wizard indicated. He murdered Lily because she would not stand aside and let him murder her son. Her sacrifice gave the boy the power he needed to survive. To win."

Mrs. Evans looked astonished, then alarmed. "But if you change that, can he still be defeated?"

Severus nodded decisively. "We know how to defeat him now. The greatest concern is navigating the differences between your world and our own. A marriage law was never passed in our world. This –" he gestured at the ruined church behind them, "did not happen. We were prepared for the possibility of an attack, but we did not anticipate anything of this magnitude. And there will be other differences, even greater differences, from this point forward…"

"The butterfly effect," Mrs. Evans said.

"Only in place of a butterfly, we have a law. A far more alarming source of change. And one that has only been exacerbated by our presence."

Mrs. Evans gazed out across the square in thought. "My grandson – Harry – and you. And his wife? Ginny, is that right?"

"She is his girlfriend. They have elected to fake a marriage to avoid any chance of conflict with the Ministry."

"And what about the other girl? Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. She is one of Harry's best friends."

"And your younger self? Does he know?"

"Yes. After your grandson rashly barged into this world, my younger self was the first person he encountered. Miss Granger was with him at the time, and was stranded here. We came to recover her." He hesitated. "And though we did not discuss it, I believe both your grandson and I had every intention of staying here until the war is won."

"And your own world? Won't they miss you?"

Severus almost scoffed at that, but caught himself. _Would_ they miss him? The Longbottoms, Minerva… Filius… His heart wrenched again as he thought of the tiny wizard lying dead across the square.

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "But I have never been… close… with anyone. Not after Lily."

Mrs. Evans frowned at him. "Lily is not the only girl in the world, Severus."

"I know that," he said. "But I was… the cause of her death. I destroyed the one person in the world I had ever truly loved. How could I dare…?" He flushed, embarrassed to have said so much out loud.

He was even more embarrassed when Mrs. Evans slid her hand from his shoulder to rub a soothing circle on his back, as he had seen her do to Lily many times.

"I think it's clear she didn't die because you cared for her," Mrs. Evans said, in a tone that was equal parts stern and gentle. "She died because you tried to stop caring."

Severus gave her a sharp, pained look, and felt the pain drive deeper when he saw only compassion in her eyes. But she had not lost her Lily; she could afford to be forgiving.

The Mrs. Evans of his own world would have been less so, had she lived long enough to see what he had done.

"You died in a car accident," he said abruptly. "A few months from now, in my world. May I advise you to avoid cars for the foreseeable future? Or any other heavy machinery Muggles are irrational enough to operate?"

Mrs. Evans had looked startled at first, but at this she laughed. "Severus! You always were afraid of cars."

"With reason, obviously."

"I suppose I can't argue with that. How dreadful. The poor girls. And Dennis… I'm sure he had no idea what to do with them."

"Your husband died in the accident as well."

Mrs. Evans grimaced. "The poor girls."

Severus didn't answer. Though his compassion for Lily was acute, his memory of her son's account of his aunt's behavior made it impossible to feel sorry for Petunia.

"I think I ought to go to Lily," Mrs. Evans said, glancing across the square again. Severus could not see Lily through the crowd of Aurors, but he knew she must be there.

"She's been with James… His parents died, you know…"

"They were already dying of an illness. They were simply unaware of it."

Mrs. Evans stood up with a sigh. "I don't think that will be much comfort to him."

"No," Severus agreed. He hesitated. "You will not tell anyone what I have told you?"

She laid a hand on his head, as she had sometimes done when he was a child, no matter how greasy-haired he had been. "I like to think I'm more sensible than that, dear."

Severus gave her a half-smile. "More sensible than any of us, I daresay."

* * *

The Aurors were debating the logistics of transporting so many dead by the time Severus had collected himself enough to approach. Around them, and seemingly unaware of the argument, the few survivors who were not at St. Mungo's stood or knelt beside the bodies of those they had known. Severus saw Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley huddled together off to the side, both looking red-eyed and angry.

Potter saw him first. The relief on the boy's face was rather flattering. Then his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Where's Hermione?" the boy asked.

Severus frowned. "Surely you are aware that Miss Granger has been arrested?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "And Sirius, too. Dumbledore said they have to marry –"

"Moody has gone to convey the message," Severus said.

A _clunk-clunk_ echoed his words. "Message conveyed."

They turned to watch Moody's lurching approach. Though his injuries had been healed, his robes were filthy and torn, and his new wooden leg was already coated in muck.

Neither Harry nor Ginny looked particularly happy with his pronouncement. "Isn't there a way around it?"

Moody arched a brow. "Around the law? Sure. Azkaban."

At their dismayed expressions, Severus rolled his eyes. "It is only temporary."

Ginny gave him a dark look. "Hermione's not going to like it."

"She might say no," Harry added.

Severus had considered that possibility as well. Though Miss Granger was a pragmatic young woman, she was also sentimental. He did not doubt that this was the last situation she would ever have envisioned for her wedding day. And she had proven herself capable of defying authority before.

Then again, it had been Potter whose open defiance had drawn Umbridge's ire during the Ministry's ill-advised takeover of Hogwarts. For the most part, Miss Granger had bitten her tongue in class, and rebelled in secret. He could only hope she would display the same cunning now. Though freeing her from Azkaban was not impossible (he did, after all, have his own Ministry-provided key), he thought it was unlikely he could manage it without bringing the entire Auror Department down on their heads.

"Granger seems like a sensible girl," Moody said. "She'll know marrying Black is better than Azkaban."

Potter gaped at him. "Marrying – who? What?"

Beside him, the Weasley girl looked just as surprised. "You want her to marry _Sirius?_ "

Moody looked surprised. "Who else?"

To Severus's utter shock, both Potter and the Weasley girl looked at him. "But what about you?"

"What about me?" he asked, in as dangerous a tone as he could manage through his confusion.

They stared at him, then at each other.

"Er," Potter said.

"Well," Miss Weasley added.

"We just thought, er, you know…"

They stared at him, as if expecting him to understand their nonsense.

"Thought _what?_ " he demanded.

Ginny Weasley made an impatient sound. "Come on, sir. If there's anyone she'd be willing to marry in a pinch, it'd be you."

Severus stared at her, trying (probably unsuccessfully) to hide his shock. The fact that Harry Potter and his all-too-Gryffindor girlfriend were calmly suggesting their best friend would marry him, the most reviled of all teachers, was almost completely overshadowed by their apparent certainty that Miss Granger would in fact be willing to follow through on such a (to her no doubt) nightmarish suggestion _._

"You cannot be serious," he said.

Potter had the audacity to roll his eyes. "If it was a choice between you or Sirius, she'd choose you any day."

Ginny nodded.

"If this is your idea of a joke, Po- _Peverell_ , then may I remind you that this is _not_ an appropriate –"

"It's not a joke!" Potter exclaimed. "I mean, don't get me wrong – it's disturbing."

"Very disturbing," Ginny agreed.

"But please – Sirius? With Hermione?"

Ginny shook her head, frowning at Severus. "You don't understand women at all, do you?"

"And exactly _how,_ " he snarled, "am I more appealing to women than Sirius Black? Please, astound me."

"Well, all right," Ginny said. "You're not. Not to most women, anyway. I'd definitely pick Sirius."

Harry nodded.

"But this is _Hermione._ She wants someone serious and brilliant and responsible."

"Someone who can teach her things," Potter added, with an expression of supreme distaste.

"Plus there was that thing with Krum," Ginny said. "He looks a bit like you, you know."

Severus stared at them both in open incredulity. Had they gone mad?

"You expect me to believe," he said, half-mocking and half-unnerved, "that Miss Granger is harboring some kind of – of _crush_ on me?"

"Not a _crush,_ necessarily," Ginny said. "More a kind of potential."

"You can't tell us you haven't thought about it," Potter said.

"I most certainly have _not!_ " Severus exclaimed, outraged.

They gave him disbelieving looks.

"I have known her since she was eleven!"

"So?" Ginny said. "She's not eleven now."

Severus stared at her in a kind of horror. "And is this what Miss Granger believes? That I have pursued a research partnership with her to facilitate some kind of – of –"

"Seduction?" Moody offered helpfully, evidently appreciating the scene, though he could not, of course, understand the full context.

"Is that what she believes?" Severus asked, his face burning, his Occlumency shields utterly useless against the two teenagers' casual conviction that he was preying on their friend.

"Not like _that,_ " Ginny said.

"Probably not at all," Harry added, in a tone that he apparently thought was fair. "But I'm sure she's thought about it. I mean, she's had to, what with Ron."

"That's why they rowed, you know," Ginny said. "He thinks you're secretly together."

"How _Weasley_ could think that," Severus sneered, "I can easily imagine. But I would have thought _you_ would have more sense. And I am certain Miss Granger does."

Potter frowned at him. "So you wouldn't have a problem with her marrying Sirius?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "It is only _temporary,_ Peverell. What does it matter –"

"It'll matter to her," Ginny said.

The two teenagers gave him identical grim looks, their faces smeared with dirt and blood, their hair disheveled and filthy, the hint of tear tracks still pressed into their battle-stained faces. The rows of bodies behind them should have left them crippled with horror, yet here they stood, stubbornly insisting that he and Miss Granger had the potential for some secret romance as if it weren't the most repulsive thought that had ever entered their heads.

Perhaps the morning's trauma had finally broken them.

"Allow me to explain something," he said, in a low, deadly tone. "I am twenty years Miss Granger's senior –"

"We know –"

"Then _think!_ Someone twenty years your junior has not even been conceived! Do you really imagine, with everything you have experienced in the last eighteen years, that someone who has not even been born yet could possibly be an equal partner to you twenty years from now? How much more will you have experienced by then? How many losses and triumphs, how many lessons and mistakes, how many jobs and relationships will you have had?"

"Have _you_ had relationships?" Ginny asked skeptically.

Severus scowled at her. "I am not referring only to romantic entanglements, Mrs. Peverell. I have watched generations of children grow to adulthood. Do you think it likely that I could choose one among those many children and suddenly forget her age? When I was thirty-one, Miss Granger was bobbing up and down in her seat, unable to restrain herself from blurting out answers. When I was thirty-two, she was infatuated with _Lockhart_. When I was thirty-three, she was racing off to Hogsmeade for her first candy binge. When I was thirty-four, she was kissing Krum, who I thought at the time was too old for her. When I was thirty-five, she was knitting shapeless blobs in her endless quest to harass house-elves. When I was thirty-six, she was head over heels in love with _Weasley._ When I was thirty-seven –" Severus bared his teeth, looking at Ginny. "I think you remember that year. Do you think I had nothing better to do with my time than envision hideously inappropriate scenarios with truant students?"

He paused, catching his breath and reigning in his temper. "I am well aware that you did not regard yourselves as children during any of that time. You shouldered responsibilities that few adults ever face. Yet allow me to impress upon you that those of us who were _actual_ adults were only too aware of your ages. You cannot comprehend, Mr. Peverell, how horrifying the prospect of an undersized twelve-year old battling a basilisk was to us all, nor can you imagine, Mrs. Peverell, how tiny you appeared when you showed up in the hospital wing after emerging from the Chamber of Secrets. You may delude yourselves into believing that I can set those memories aside and see only the lovely young woman Miss Granger has become, but I assure you, it is no rare occurrence that I look at her and see clearly the buck-toothed, furry-faced child who had cat ears protruding from beneath her ridiculous hair. I am proud of her, and I care deeply for her, and I hope to have her in my life for decades to come – but the idea that there could ever be anything sexual between us makes my skin crawl." He glared at them. "As it should yours."

They stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, for several seconds before Potter pulled himself together enough to say, "Well, yeah. Of course it does. But Hermione –"

"Deserves the opportunity to be loved as an equal, in every way."

"So you're marrying her to Sirius?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"For the last time: the arrangement is _temporary._ "

"But what if something goes wrong?"

Severus folded his arms. "It is a relatively simple plan."

Potter snorted. "This is Hermione we're talking about. She makes battle plans just to tackle homework."

"Even _I_ would be worried about something going wrong," Ginny said. "And so would you! What if she got stuck with him?"

"I would have thought that would please you," Severus said, glancing at Potter.

Harry snorted again. "Yeah, right. He'd be as bad as Ron." At Severus's surprised look, he added, "Don't get me wrong. Sirius is great. But with Hermione?"

Ginny shook her head. "It would be a disaster."

"There would be bloodshed," Potter said, then sobered immediately, seeming to recollect, finally, where he was and what had happened.

 _Traumatized,_ Severus thought. Yes – Potter and the Weasley girl were both avoiding the situation at hand with desperate effort.

"Granger seems more than capable of bloodshed," Moody said.

They all looked at him. Severus had half-forgotten he was there, and, judging by the looks on the others' faces, they had as well. Moody had been a fixture in all their lives for so long that his presence now felt more natural than his absence ever had.

"Those were some wards she cast," Moody added. "Not much to see now, with the Death Eater Inferi all burned, but in the middle of the battle…" He whistled. "Know anything about that?"

"What was it, exactly?" Potter asked, looking at Severus. "I saw them go down…"

"She cursed their penises," Ginny said easily.

Potter gave her an amusingly horrified look. Severus arched a brow. "She discussed the ward with you?"

"Sure," Ginny said, "I recommended that part."

"You what?" Potter asked, startled.

Ginny shrugged. "We were talking about Greyback, and it just seemed like a good precaution, for future. I think she designed the anti-Dark Mark one more as an exercise than anything. It's not like she could have used it much…"

 _With the Death Eaters in our world destroyed,_ Severus knew she meant. "What does Greyback have to do with it?"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and Severus felt a cold sliver of unease.

"Nothing happened," Ginny said hastily, seeing the look on his face.

"But it could have," Harry said, with a much darker look than Severus was used to seeing on the boy. "That ward wouldn't have worked on him, though. He never had the Mark."

Ginny shrugged. "Like I said, I think it was more of an exercise."

"Hell of a useful one," Moody said. "Wouldn't mind learning it… if she's not too busy using it on Black, that is."

Potter flinched. "She wouldn't."

Severus was amused to hear the doubt in his tone.

"It's not permanent," Ginny assured him. "At least, not that version of it."

Potter gave her a nervous look. "And, er, how do you know it?"

Ginny grinned. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Peverell. I'm sure I'll never have to use it on _you._ "

 _CRACK._

Potter and Miss Weasley spun around, wands raised, and even Moody started with a look of alarm that Severus remembered well from the Moody of his own world. Several feet away, Barty Crouch, Sr. had appeared, his pristine robes contrasting sharply with the grimy, bedraggled group he had Apparated into.

"Lower your wands," he snapped.

Moody had already done so; Potter and Miss Weasley lowered theirs only slowly. It could not have been plainer that their instincts were cautioning them to do otherwise. Severus's own wand was clenched in his fist, but he kept it well hidden behind the folds of his robes.

How easy it would be to simply cast the Imperius Curse and end this all…

Crouch's gaze had flickered from the rings on the supposed Peverells' fingers to the conspicuous lack of any on Severus's. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How old are you?"

Severus cast a deliberate, disgusted glance at the rows of bodies behind them – now in the process of being moved – before answering slowly, "Thirty-nine."

Crouch's gaze sharpened. "Then you are in violation –"

"On the contrary, I think you will find that I am exempt from your despicable law." From the corner of his eye, he saw Potter's eyes widen comically. "According to Article Three, Section Four, Subsection C, wizards and witches unable to reproduce are not required to marry. As the stated purpose of marriage is to produce offspring, such wizards and witches are, I believe the law observes, 'useless to any spouse so unfortunate as to be attached to them.'"

Potter was truly gaping at him now.

"Proof of exemption must be provided," Crouch said.

"Of course." Severus withdrew the sheaf of parchment he had acquired at St. Mungo's and handed it to Crouch, who examined it carefully.

"This order of exemption is dated today," Crouch snapped. "The law has been in effect for months –"

"During which time I was abroad," Severus said smoothly. "I returned to Britain this morning for the Potters' wedding and reported to St. Mungo's immediately afterward."

Crouch scowled, but handed the parchment back. "You are related to Severus Snape?"

"I am his uncle."

"And you were planning to attend his wedding as well?"

His younger self would not be required to marry for three more weeks, but Severus only said, "Naturally."

"Mr. Snape's fiancée was in violation of the law," Crouch said. "Their wedding is taking place today, if it has not taken place already. Congratulations," he added without feeling. With a final glance at Potter and the Weasley girl, he strode away, presumably to harass someone else.

Severus stared after him. Surely he had not meant –

"So we _were_ right!" Potter said triumphantly.

"I hadn't even considered that," Ginny added. "I wonder if she really likes him?"

"She must," Harry said. "But what about Sirius? Who's he marrying?"

"I'll find out," Moody growled, clunking away.

Severus said nothing. In his mind's eye, he saw again the way his younger self had stayed so close to Miss Granger as they had entered the church, how at ease he had seemed in her company. He had thought then that his younger self deserved better than he did, not having made the same mistakes, nor sacrificed the same values.

Was it really possible that he was not doomed to the same loveless life Severus himself had lived?

"It is only temporary," he said, as much to himself as to the teenagers.

Ginny gave him a sharp look. "What about your 'inability to reproduce'? Is that temporary?"

Severus met her gaze calmly. "No."

They stared at him. "You did it to yourself, didn't you? Before we came here."

He shrugged. "It seemed likely such an exemption would exist. When I spoke with the headmaster, he confirmed it, and informed me of the order of exemption I would need to obtain from the Healers."

"So you… what?" Potter asked, looking disturbed. "Used a spell like Hermione's ward…?"

"Of course not," Severus said, flinching at the very thought. "I am a potions master, Potter. I could brew any number of potions to induce sterility. The process was not painful."

"But you're not…" Potter looked alarmed.

Severus flushed. "I am not impotent, Potter, merely sterile. Nor have I castrated myself. _Not_ that it is any of your business."

Whether it was his business or not, Potter looked profoundly relieved. His girlfriend, however, was still frowning.

"What if you change your mind?" she asked.

Severus snorted. "After nearly two decades of teaching children, I think I can safely say that there is nothing I would abhor more than producing one of my own."

"You would like your own better," she pointed out.

"There is no guarantee of that," he replied, thinking of his own parents and their often-expressed sentiments toward him. "In any case, as I have said… It is none of your business."

"Just the Ministry's," Potter said bitterly.

"For now," Severus said, scowling across the square at Crouch, who was snapping out orders to the Aurors – though whether those orders concerned Voldemort and his Death Eaters or rounding up more innocent people who didn't want to submit themselves to Random Spousal Assignment, he couldn't tell.

The bodies were being Disapparated one by one – to the Ministry, Severus assumed, or perhaps to St. Mungo's morgue. He saw Potter – James Potter – stumble away from his parents as Frank and Alice Longbottom each took one of the bodies and disappeared. Lily was there, too; her wedding dress was stained various shades of brown and black, her hair in disarray and her face swollen red with tears. Severus would have recognized her anywhere, and yet she looked strange to him, not because of the blood and filth, but because she was so young; younger than Miss Granger.

He had accused Potter and Miss Weasley of believing that he could set aside his memories and imagine Miss Granger to be older than she was, but he knew, in that instant, that he had in fact done so with Lily. When he thought of her, she was his own age; his peer, his equal. He had never thought before, _she was barely more than a child when she died,_ but he thought it now, and it unsettled him.

"Is _she_ too young?" Ginny asked, following his gaze.

Severus nodded slowly, but without resistance. "Yes."

Ginny patted his arm. "This is probably really good for you."

He shot her a look for her impertinence, but she was frowning around at the rapidly emptying square. "What now?"

"I need to find Fiend," he said immediately.

"I saw her with your, er, nephew," Harry said. "But I lost track of them."

"No doubt because he went to claim Miss Granger's hand," Severus said, smirking at his younger self's audacity, and so relieved to hear Fiend was with him that the humor of the appalling situation was beginning to strike him.

"I wish I could be there," Ginny said.

"Longing for a wedding, Miss Weasley?" Severus said, reminding her with a sweeping movement of his arm of the devastation the last one had caused.

"No," she said, sighing wearily. "I just want to see if Hermione slaps the officiant across the face."


	37. Chapter 37

37

Severus had never been to Arabella Figg's house. By the time he had openly joined the Order, she had moved to Little Whinging to keep an eye on the Boy Who Lived, and her proximity to the Dursleys had rendered her house an inadvisable location for Order meetings.

However, if he had ever had nothing better to do than to imagine her home, he would have pictured it exactly as it was: full of frayed lace doilies and fragile figurines, most of which were missing limbs, no doubt due to the plethora of mischievous part-Kneazles, who, Severus could only assume, were intelligent enough to find the figurines as disgusting as he did. Every article of furniture was coated in cat hair. Clumps of fur clustered in corners, and a strong smell of tuna and cat urine permeated the air. Severus wasn't sure if the house was always like this or if Figg had simply been too busy with her Order duties to clean, but it took all of his self-control not to cast a few surreptitious Cleaning Charms on her behalf.

The part-Kneazles seemed to enjoy the sudden appearance of so many people. They wound in and out of legs, sniffing at shoes and batting at robes, and Severus found himself backed into a corner by three of them, all of whom seemed determined to shed as much hair as possible all over his torn, filthy robes. Their curious mews reminded him sharply of Fiend, and he couldn't stop himself from tensing, impatient for Moody to return from his latest trip to the Ministry.

Around the table, only a handful of Order members had gathered. Minerva had allowed one of the part-Kneazles to climb into her lap and was petting it with a deadened expression on her face. Alice Longbottom had dropped her head onto her arms, looking as though she had aged a decade, while Frank ran his fingers over her filthy hair in a movement that might have been as much for his comfort as for hers. James Potter, against everyone's expectations, had insisted on attending the meeting, and sat glaring at the table with a kind of furious anguish; beside him, Lily glanced helplessly from him to her mother, who seemed to have followed the wizards without anyone noticing. Harry Potter stood in the corner opposite Severus, staring at his parents, while beside him Ginny Weasley was making an obvious effort not to look at her father and Prewett uncles, who were sitting in another corner, clearly trying to be as unobtrusive as possible in the face of the wedding guests' trauma.

Arabella Figg was just passing out what looked like very dry cakes when they heard the front door open and the familiar _clunk-clunk_ of Moody's wooden leg. A moment later, a blur of orange shot into the room, scattering part-Kneazles everywhere and sending the three clustered around Severus's ankles darting for cover. Fiend sprang into Severus's arms, bristling and glaring around at the other felines with a possessive hiss.

"I have been looking for you," Severus said quietly.

She gave him a reproachful look, as if measuring whether he had been trying to replace her with Figg's inferior creatures, then settled more comfortably in his arms.

"Hope you've got some treats for her," Moody said. "She caught Pettigrew."

The other Order members, who had barely taken notice of the Kneazle's arrival, looked up in surprise and anticipation.

"Pettigrew's in custody?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"Yep. Snape brought him in." Moody jerked his head behind him, then moved out of the way as Severus's younger self and Miss Granger entered the room, looking even wearier and bloodier than everyone else.

"Dobby helped," the younger Severus said.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, looking astounded until Ginny elbowed him pointedly in the ribs. "Er," he hastily corrected, "who's that?"

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could tell his younger self was doing the same.

"The Malfoys' house-elf," Moody said. "Former house-elf, rather. You didn't mention he'd helped," he added, looking at the younger Severus.

The boy shrugged. He looked bone-weary, pale and thin and on the verge of collapse. Severus kicked out the chair nearest him and both his younger self and Miss Granger came to sit near the corner where he was standing.

Severus gave Miss Granger a piercing look, searching uncomfortably for any sign of the "potential" Potter and the Weasley girl had mentioned, but though her eyes had brightened slightly at the sight of him, all he could really distinguish was exhaustion. She dropped into her chair with all the grace of a Blast-Ended Skrewt and began fiddling with the ring on her finger.

"Where's Sirius?" James Potter asked.

For a moment, no one spoke. Alice had raised her head from the table and was staring at Miss Granger's ring. Harry and Ginny were looking curiously at the younger Severus. It was Moody who finally answered.

"Azkaban."

After the devastation of his wedding, the death of his parents and Lupin, and the subsequent capture of Pettigrew, Severus was not really surprised that this latest blow to Potter resulted in half the figurines in the room exploding.

"Careful, boy!" Figg cried.

"Mr. Potter!" Minerva exclaimed.

Potter was on his feet. It was beyond strange to see him again. In Severus's memory, Potter had always loomed large, the rich, arrogant tormentor who had absconded with Lily's heart. Though Severus had despised him, it had been impossible to think of him as anything but an equal, a threat; now he was just a teenager, orphaned and grief-stricken. Severus didn't feel any special warmth toward him, but it was unnerving to feel a sudden emptiness where the hatred of James Potter had resided for so long.

Then Potter looked at Miss Granger and snarled, "I thought _she_ was supposed to marry him!"

Miss Granger shifted in her seat, though whether in discomfort at Potter's accusation or at the fact that every eye in the room was now fixed on her was difficult to say.

"She married Snape," Moody said.

It was clear from Potter's expression that he had not yet made this connection, though Severus felt certain everyone else in the room had. The boy's face twisted in revulsion and abject shock. " _Snape?_ "

Severus watched his younger self discreetly slide his hand into his robes, and knew he was clenching his wand. How many times had he himself done so, every time Potter was anywhere near? And though he was no longer afraid of this arrogant boy, it was plain his younger self had not yet overcome that itching, unshakable fear.

"Snape wasn't even arrested," James said slowly, as if trying to make sense of what Moody was telling him. "Why would she marry him?"

Everyone's attention focused on Miss Granger once more. She shrank back in her chair, turning red and looking thoroughly overwhelmed.

"That is hardly your concern, Mr. Potter," Severus said.

The attention shifted to him, then promptly to his younger self, then back again.

"I thought Snape's family was dead," Potter said coldly, though his voice shook on the last word.

"Yes. As I understand, you raised the subject with my nephew at every opportunity," Severus replied. "I daresay you were too busy reveling in the idea to verify its accuracy."

Potter flushed deeply.

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. "We've all had a, er, terrible day. Let's just –"

"I want to know why she didn't marry Sirius!" Potter snapped, recovering. "Why does he have to rot in Azkaban while _Snape_ gets to –"

"Because he violated the law, that's why!" Moody retorted.

"The law is WRONG!" Potter shouted.

"I know that, Potter," Moody growled. "But it would have been Snape in Azkaban a few weeks from now, and if Granger wants to pick him over Black, that's her prerogative."

Potter's face twisted. "What kind of woman would pick _Snape_ over Sirius? He's just a cowardly, sniveling –"

"Cowardly?" Frank Longbottom asked. "He killed half a dozen Death Eaters!"

Severus felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. His younger self had killed? Now, at nineteen? He himself had only ever killed one man, and that only after Dumbledore had begged him to do so…

His younger self glared defiantly at all the staring faces, but Severus could see the lines of misery in his expression, the tension in shoulders that would have been trembling if he had not been fighting so hard to control himself.

"So he's a killer," Potter spat. "Well, that's no surprise, is it? He wanted to be a Death Eater –"

"But he's not," Alice said sharply. "We're all on the same side, James –"

"SIRIUS WAS ON OUR SIDE FIRST!"

"So Granger has to marry him, is that it?"

"YES!" Potter roared. It was several seconds before he noticed the looks on the other Order members' faces. "No," he said. "That's not what I meant."

"Really?" Alice asked, scowling.

"I just don't see why Sirius should be in Azkaban when that slimeball is walking free!"

"Obviously," Alice said, "it's because Granger prefers slimeballs. There's no point in crying about it now."

Potter looked like he was ready to keep crying about it, but in that moment Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, yellow robes stained a sickening brownish hue. The part-Kneazles sniffed at him curiously.

"The last of the victims have been identified," he said quietly.

Potter sat down.

"The losses we suffered today are immeasurable," Dumbledore continued, in a soft, tired tone that reminded Severus of so many speeches like this, given whenever the Order had failed in its mission to protect the innocent. "Mothers and fathers, friends and colleagues are lost to us. I ask you all to observe a moment of silence in their memory."

The silence would have been solemn, if not for the intermittent mewling of the part-Kneazles. Severus could not focus on the memory of the dead. Too much had happened; too much still needed to happen. He would mourn when there was time, but this forced minute in a room full of ghosts meant nothing.

He could see that others felt the same. Though Arthur Weasley, his brothers-in-law, and Minerva had all bowed their heads, Potter was gritting his teeth, and Lily was watching him with worried eyes. Severus could see that his younger self was staring at Dumbledore with an expression of deepest distrust and dislike, while the three teenagers from Severus's own world were exchanging tired, guilty glances.

Dumbledore raised his head. "It would be easy to allow the horror and pain of this tragedy to divide us. Everyone in this room is capable of great love, and yet even we may find it much simpler to hate than to forgive, to seek solace in anger rather than in the loving memories that are now tinged with grief. I must ask you not to do this. I must ask you to find the strength within yourselves to remember those you loved, and the compassion to forgive yourselves and each other for the losses you were powerless to prevent. We made every effort to keep our friends and families safe today, and yet even our best efforts failed. I must ask you to remember who is responsible for that failure, and to dedicate all your grief and strength to uniting against him."

Dumbledore paused, gazing at each of them with his piercing blue eyes. Severus met the grief and resolve in the familiar look with his own.

In a harder tone, Dumbledore said, "Of Voldemort's known Death Eaters – those who had not yet been captured and imprisoned in Azkaban – all but Bellatrix Lestrange are dead. The Ministry," and here his voice darkened, "is considering this a victory, despite the loss of innocent lives. The victims have been hailed as heroes and will be awarded posthumous Orders of Merlin, Second Class. The Minister was inclined to declare Voldemort all but defeated, but Barty Crouch has advised against it. Considering how many previously unknown Death Eaters were among the dead, he is of the opinion that Voldemort may have other allies the Ministry is unaware of."

"What do you think?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"It is my belief," Dumbledore said, "that the majority of Lord Voldemort's forces have been killed or captured."

There was some hopeful murmuring.

"However," he said, "this will likely escalate the immediate danger to innocent lives. Voldemort will wish to prove to the Wizarding public that he has not been defeated. Moreover, he will wish to increase his forces as quickly as possible. I think it can safely be assumed that his primary goal in the coming weeks will be releasing his captured Death Eaters from Azkaban. It is likely he will attempt to recruit the Dementors to accomplish this, thereby swelling his forces with the most terrible ally he could hope to find."

"What can we do?" one of the Prewetts asked.

"I have warned the Minister of the likelihood that the Dementors will turn against us. He does not wish to acknowledge the possibility. However, Crouch has agreed to set an Auror guard around the prison to watch for any envoy of Lord Voldemort who may be sent to negotiate with them. This of course means that the Auror force will be stretched even thinner than it is already. I think it likely," he looked at Frank and Alice, "that your training will end even sooner than expected."

Frank nodded, looking unsurprised. Alice had a fierce light in her eyes.

"The Aurors should ask for volunteers," Harry said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him. Until now (and probably for the first time in his life, Severus imagined), he had barely drawn a moment's notice from the rest of the room. Now they frowned at him in slight bafflement.

"You have a secret twin, Potter?" Fabian Prewett asked.

James Potter gave his son a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

"Harry Peverell," Harry said. "I'm a distant cousin." At the doubtful looks around him, he added, "Does it really matter? If you can get the Aurors to accept volunteers, instead of insisting on years of training and a million Outstanding N.E.W.T.s, you can increase their numbers right now."

"You can't ask untrained people to fight," Moody said. "Ethical considerations aside, it'd be chaos."

"They wouldn't need to take on full Auror duties," Ginny said. "Even if you just use them as a warning system –"

"Guarding places or events Riddle might try to attack –"

"They could contact the Aurors instantly, so we wouldn't have to wait half an hour for them to show their faces. The Order, too."

"We could hand out coins with the Protean Charm on them," Harry added. "We've used them before –"

"Yeah, we've seen one," Moody said. "Granger's handiwork. And you want to hand them out like candy, eh?"

"Not to everyone," Harry said hastily. "Obviously we'd have to make sure they can be trusted –"

"Not a lot of people can be," Moody said.

"We could enchant the coins to react if they're touched by a Death Eater," Miss Granger said suddenly. Her voice was quiet, exhausted, but Severus could tell from the certainty in her tone that she had already thought of a way to alter the Death Eater wards he had shown her to bewitch the coins.

"We could make the coins deactivate," she continued. "Or –"

"Add a tracking spell," Severus said, in the same instant his younger self said, "Kill them."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Severus stared at his younger self, who flushed, the lines of misery no less pronounced for all that a hardness had settled over his face.

"A tracking spell might lead us to other Death Eaters," Severus pointed out quietly.

"A curse would stop them from hurting anyone else before we can get there," his younger self replied.

Severus held his younger self's gaze. "Are you prepared to take responsibility for the deaths that might result? The Dark Lord has recruited Hogwarts students. Would you condemn adolescents younger than yourself to death for a mistake that you might just as easily have made?"

Something flashed in his younger self's eyes, something that struck Severus as less like shame than contempt – contempt for him, for the choice he had made, the choice his younger self had been wise enough to refuse.

"We don't have to kill them," Miss Granger said into the tense silence. "We can use a different curse –"

"Your castration spell?" Severus asked with arched eyebrow.

Miss Granger flushed, but Miss Weasley said, "Technically it was _my_ castration spell."

"No," Miss Granger said, recovering. "Obviously, that was a mistake. You saw how many female Death Eaters there were. And we know Bellatrix is still out there…"

"We just need to disable them," Harry said. "We could use Petrificus Totalus –"

"Too easy to break," Moody said. "First years can manage that spell."

"There are other paralysis spells that are more… resilient," Severus said. _And painful,_ he thought.

"Paralyzing them would be better than killing them anyway," Alice said. "That way we can interrogate them. And it's better than just using a tracking spell, too – a trace could be disrupted if they Apparate to a warded location, but if they're paralyzed first, they're not going anywhere."

"There's still the risk of him recruiting people without giving them the Dark Mark," Harry said. "So we'll have to be at least reasonably sure these coins are going to people on our side –"

"Otherwise they could lure us into a trap," Ginny added.

"Perhaps Miss Granger could draw up a contract," Severus said. "With consequences for any who betray its terms."

Miss Granger shot him a furtive, embarrassed look, as though she hadn't realized he knew about the circumstances of Marietta Edgecomb's scarring. Foolish of her; the entire school had been talking about it. It had certainly given his Slytherins pause to know what she was capable of. Even he had been surprised by her willingness to inflict permanent harm.

"Might be better if the consequences weren't obvious," Moody said thoughtfully. "Just a heads up to us that any message from that coin might be compromised – in case the betrayal isn't voluntary."

"Can you do all that?" Alice asked, eyeing Miss Granger curiously.

"I think so." Miss Granger shifted uncomfortably again. "But first S-Severus and I need to deal with these rings." She shot Severus another glance, as if calling her husband by his first name would draw his ire.

"What d'you mean, 'deal' with them?" James Potter asked, frowning at her. "You can't get around the law, Dumbledore's already tried."

Miss Granger shrank a little, glancing at Dumbledore, before squaring her shoulders and saying, "I'd like to try myself."

A few people gave her pitying looks. Moody looked intrigued. "And if it doesn't work?"

The younger Severus glared. "Then we'll leave the country."

Potter snorted. "Running away, Snivellus?"

"Would you consider rape preferable?" the younger Severus spat.

Potter flushed, then smirked, a dark, vicious look that Severus knew well but that seemed, on Potter's grief-stricken, bloodstained face, far more disturbing than he remembered. "So she _doesn't_ like you."

"It wouldn't matter if I was in love with him," Miss Granger snapped. "I'm not complying with this disgusting law."

"Heard that one before," one of the Prewetts muttered.

"Not from Hermione, you haven't," Harry said.

"I doubt she'll have any more luck than Dumbledore," Potter said, sounding almost triumphant.

Harry's expression faltered slightly, but he looked serious when he asked Miss Granger, "Do you think you can do it?"

"I have no idea," she said. "I haven't had a chance to look at the rings yet."

"I would like to examine them as well," Severus said.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "we should adjourn for the evening. Many of you need time to mourn… And, despite all the horror and grief of today, I think two of you still have something to celebrate."

Potter glanced at Lily, who blushed. Once upon a time a look like that would have tortured Severus beyond imagining. Now, he felt only the same vague nausea that always accompanied witnessing teenage romance.

His younger self was not looking at Lily or Potter, but at the floor. It was impossible to tell whether he was suffering the throes of jealousy or merely anger. Until a few hours ago, Severus would have assumed the former… but there could be no denying the way his younger self's attention had stayed focused on Miss Granger from the moment they had sat down. Whether that attention was simply attachment to an ally or an attachment of a different sort remained to be seen. It seemed almost incomprehensible that in a matter of mere days his affections might have shifted from Lily to anyone else. Surely he was not so fickle?

But would it really be to his discredit if he were?

Could _he_ ever shift his affections with such ease?

 _No,_ he thought, unnerved by the thought. _I have loved Lily for almost as long as I can remember. I love her._

And yet, he most certainly did _not_ love the girl sitting across the room, making doe eyes at Potter.

It would be a simple matter to tell himself that she was not _his_ Lily, but it would be the truth only in the most technical sense. She was Lily: Lily, who had chosen Potter; Lily, who would have married him within months even without the marriage law. She was older already than she had been the last time Severus had seen her. His duties for the Dark Lord had never brought him close to the circles she had entered after graduating Hogwarts. He had seen her at her funeral, but that was not the same.

This was Lily, the person Lily had become, the person she evidently would become in any world.

She was very pretty, and still had her sweet smile, but the absolutely heart-wrenching magic of her presence was nowhere to be found. Certainly not within himself.

She was just a girl.

Some kind of pain tore through him at the thought, dragging loose feelings he had never dared acknowledge: fear, chiefly, the fear that crawled out of his deepest anguish, in his darkest moods – the fear that everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, was for nothing, for an ideal that didn't exist – that it had all been a waste. His life had struck him as worthless from the moment Lily had cast it aside, and yet there had always been that terror, deep and shameful and selfish, that it was Lily who was wrong, that she had made a mistake, and that he had made a mistake in not realizing it.

But he had been wrong, and he knew it. Whether she was the enchanting embodiment of all that was good and pure in the world, or just a pretty girl who had gotten tired of him, she had not deserved to die. None of the people who had died because of what he had given the Dark Lord, the secrets and poisons, his very soul, had deserved it. All the years he had sacrificed in Lily's memory _should_ have been given as freely as he had given them.

But perhaps he should have sacrificed them for something else.

Nothing else had mattered to him. He knew that, he remembered it well. Even now, there was very little that did. At twenty-one, Lily had been the one and only precious thing that had ever entered his life, the only person he had ever loved, the only person who had ever been (so he thought) unreservedly kind to him.

If he couldn't love her, did he simply love no one? Was he alone, unloving and unloved? He had Fiend – he supposed he loved her in a way. But he had shut away the rest of himself and dedicated it to Lily and Lily alone. _The best of you,_ Dumbledore had called it once. And he, Severus, had refused to reveal it to anyone; had refused to even touch it himself.

Minerva, Filius, the Longbottoms, Miss Granger… They mattered to him, but his feelings for them had never been truly deep. There was a place inside of him that nothing had been able to pierce from the moment Lily had died, and he doubted now whether anything ever would again.

Not even, it seemed, Lily herself.

Fiend's claws dug into his chest. He suspected that, Occlumency shields or no, she could sense his distress. He ran a soothing hand over her fur, but it was far from enough to soothe him.

It shouldn't have caused him so much pain. He had accepted long ago that he would never love again, that he had wasted that chance irrevocably. Yet, through it all, he had still had Lily; even dead, she was a fierce, bright, painful presence inside him, the one truly good thing in all the world.

Standing there in Arabella Figg's dirty dining room, he felt that presence disappear with such sudden force that the space it left behind was an agonizing void.

He had never, in all his life, felt so alone.

Fiend squirmed in his arms, lifting her paw up to his face and resting it against the side of his nose. He met her little golden gaze, and though of course there was no understanding there, he could see worry, and the desire to make him feel better.

He let out a long, silent breath and forced his feelings down. He could not afford to think of it now. Not with Miss Granger married to his younger self, and Voldemort's defeat within their grasp. He needed to focus again, to become the spy he had left behind. Whatever else he was could wait.


	38. Chapter 38

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your patience with this update! I know it's late. Spring has finally come to the Alaskan town where I live, and it's been pretty hard to sit down at a computer when there are mountains to climb and glaciers to admire. This coming week is supposed to be rainy, though, so I expect I will be inside writing away!

* * *

38

Hermione ached from head to foot, her bruised, bloodied, filthy body dragging with every movement. It was barely past eleven, and yet in the past twelve hours she had fought in a battle, been arrested by the Ministry and forced into marriage, attended an Order meeting with members consisting of multiple worlds, generations, and, in Severus Snape's case, multiple versions of the same person, and now she was somehow supposed to trick the rings that not even Dumbledore had been able to fool, or else resign herself to returning to her own world without seeing this war through to the end.

Severus, determined to help, had sat down at the small table in her tent and promptly passed out with his head on his arms. Hermione knew she was in serious danger of joining him.

"Here," Snape said, setting a goblet down in front of her. She recognized it as Pepper-Up. The potion wasn't necessarily intended to aid in avoiding sleep, but she had a feeling she'd be wide awake once she had steam pouring out of her ears.

"Thanks," she said, downing it in one go. Snape had swallowed a gobletful as well, and his greasy, filthy hair looked even worse than usual with steam clinging to the lank strands.

Snape glanced at his younger self, then at the lower bunk, where Harry and Ginny had (accidentally, she suspected) fallen asleep. Even Dobby was snoring slightly from the couch. They had been working on the rings for hours with no success, and even the excitement and horror of the day hadn't been enough to keep any of them awake.

But Hermione couldn't fall asleep. She had until roughly three o'clock tomorrow afternoon to either fool the rings, or get herself out of this world (or, at the very least, this country).

And fooling the rings was what it would take. They had established all too quickly that destroying the rings was not an option. The enchantments that protected the rings and bound them to the Ministry's tracking system were immensely complex and, in Hermione's grudging opinion, flawless. Any attempt to tamper with any aspect of the rings' connection to the Ministry would result in their location's immediate transmittal to the Auror Division. The tracking system itself could not be undone. The Ministry of Magic had full authority over the British Isles, and its magic extended to every speck of dirt and drop of water contained within those bounds. That magic was rarely used to its fullest potential; there were few wizards alive who even understood its nature, and none of those could act without the Wizengamot's approval.

Unfortunately, the Wizengamot had given that approval. Even more unfortunately, Augustus Rookwood was one of those few wizards.

"The magic can only be used," Dumbledore had explained earlier, "when Britain itself is threatened. Because the marriage law has identified the declining magical population as a threat to Wizarding Britain's survival, the Ministry was permitted to tap into the vast power of Britain itself to maintain control over all those affected by the law. Only the Ministry can end that link."

Though Hermione was by no means innocent to the Ministry's corruption and power-hunger, it still astonished her the lengths to which its leaders would go to undermine the freedom of their own people. She had grown up thinking of the United Kingdom as an advanced nation, and yet its Wizarding counterpart was nothing short of fascist. How had wizards tolerated it for so long?

But then, what was the alternative? If the Ministry did not maintain total control over the magical British population, what was to stop wizards and witches from simply ignoring the International Statute of Secrecy and exposing them all to the inevitable, world-ending war that would follow?

There had to be a better way. In her own world, Kingsley had managed to return the Ministry to a benevolent dictatorship, at least, but even that was not enough. His successor could be a fool or a tyrant or a monster. The systems that gave the Ministry power were still as much in place in her own world as in this one. Fixing the problem by electing one good ruler would not fix anything at all once that ruler was replaced or deposed.

But how -

Hermione shook herself. Now was _not_ the time. She could contemplate political philosophy _after_ she had evaded the political weapon she had wrapped around her finger.

Dismantling the tracking spell was impossible. Destroying the rings was impossible. Other possibilities had presented themselves and proven just as untenable. If they fled the country and removed the rings there, the Aurors would not be notified, but the second they returned to British soil, with or without the rings, the Aurors would know where they were. If they fled to Hermione's world and removed the rings there, the Aurors would not be notified, but the second they returned to this world's British soil, with or without the rings, the Aurors would know where they were. Applying for immunity through the Auror Division as Savage had done was not possible; only fully trained Aurors' petitions were granted, and even then not in every case. There was no escape from fulfilling the requirements of the rings. If the Ministry was not certain their marriage was compliant with the law, she and Severus would be hunted down and shut away in Azkaban.

As far as Hermione could tell, there was really only one option, and she had no idea how to go about it.

She drained the Pepper-Up, wincing at the sharp taste and the wet tickling sensation of steam gushing out of her ears. Even matted with dirt and blood, her hair was probably frizzing wildly. She resisted the urge to stick her fingers in her ears to try to stop the uncomfortable sensation.

Sure enough, though, she was wide awake.

Snape had seated himself across from her again, his black eyes glassy with weariness but more alert than they had been a few minutes ago. She had been too tired, until this very moment, to register how incredible it was that he was here, and how awkward things should be between them.

He seemed to sense the change in her mood. Rather than immediately resuming his examination of the complex enchantments binding the ring on her finger, he sat back and surveyed her, his presence no less compelling for all that he looked extraordinarily out of place in her tent.

"Thank you for coming," she said. She couldn't remember if she had already said it.

"You should not have followed Potter by yourself," he replied.

She nodded. She had very much regretted that. "It was habit, I suppose."

"A very dangerous habit."

She nodded again, then said, after a moment, "I don't really regret it now. I did at first, but…" She couldn't stop her gaze from drifting to his sleeping younger self.

Snape arched his eyebrows, and she blushed.

"I only mean… He didn't deserve to be in Azkaban."

Snape snorted. "Unlike me."

"That's not what I meant," Hermione said, gently chiding. "We helped him, by coming here. Who knows how long he would have been locked up?"

"Your arrival was very fortunate for him," Snape agreed slowly.

"And even if they had let him out, they would have married him to a stranger."

"I do not doubt that he finds you preferable," Snape said, in such a pointed tone that she felt her stomach flip.

"Of course he does," she said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the insinuation. "I'm not a stranger."

Snape hesitated, then said, "I was surprised to hear that you preferred him to Black."

She snorted. Some Pepper-Up steam blasted out of her nose. "Don't be silly."

"Is it silly?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Of course it's silly!" she snapped, ruffled. "Sirius is irresponsible and manipulative and completely unstable! Not to mention," she drew herself up, staring him down, "a bully. I had my doubts about him before, but seeing him here, with his friends - with Severus -" She faltered abruptly, remembering that he hadn't given her permission to use his first name, not even for his younger self.

But he did not look angry. Indeed, he had a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Indeed," he said quietly.

She felt her face burning, but refused to look away. "Why on earth would you think I would prefer him?"

Snape shrugged. "He is handsome, wealthy, popular -"

Hermione resisted the urge to make the same gagging sound Ginny always made about Harry's fans. "And you thought I would care about that?"

"In all honesty, I had never given the matter a moment's thought before today. The romantic preferences of a student were hardly my concern."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Except when _Witch Weekly_ wrote about them."

He narrowed his eyes right back. "If you did not wish your love triangle to become public knowledge, you should not have been reading about it in my class."

"There was no love triangle!" she huffed indignantly.

She could tell from his smirk that he already knew that.

"Honestly," she muttered.

His smirk widened. "Then, of course, there was the matter of Lockhart -"

"I was thirteen!" she exclaimed, outraged. "And if you didn't care about my preferences, then how did you even know?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Lockhart made sure to show every member of staff the Valentine's Day cards he received from students. As I recall, yours included a thirty-six-inch essay extolling his virtues."

Hermione buried her face in her hands, mortified.

"Take heart, Miss Granger. Miss Brown sent him a golden necklace with an enormous pink heart pendant."

Hermione made a disgusted face. "To think I was as silly as Lavender."

Snape arched his brows. "Not for the last time, I believe."

Hermione sighed. "No. Not for the last time." She shook her head. "I wish I could go back and erase all of that, you know."

Snape gave her a small smile, only slightly mocking. "So do we all."

Hermione sighed again. "It was all so meaningless, really."

"Meaningless?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Empty." She gave him a rueful smile. "I've never been a romantic. My parents are. Their first kiss was with each other, you know. They had never wanted anyone else. They just knew. When I compare that with all of the little meaningless things I felt and did, it all just seems so… messy."

If Snape was uncomfortable with the subject, he didn't show it. "That is not unusual, I think."

"It's not how you felt," she said, with certainty.

"No," he said, with a slight sneer. "But I am not sure I would wish my feelings on anyone. And they may be as messy as yours, in the end."

She considered that. She supposed traveling to an alternate reality twenty years in the past and seeing the girl he had always loved on her wedding day would be messy, to say the least.

"You are a practical woman," Snape said. "You are analytical and organized, and you favor logic, as a rule. It is not surprising that emotions would be difficult for you. They are chaotic by nature."

Hermione frowned at that. "I understand other people's emotions just fine."

"Because you can analyze them from a distance," he said. "You do not have that advantage when it comes to your own." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Naturally, you would have preferred to set a solid romantic goal, pursue it in an organized and immaculately planned fashion, no doubt with the aid of a checklist and schedule for every important milestone, then, upon achievement of said goal, you would have wished for clear and preferably positive feedback -"

"I don't want people to _grade_ my romantic achievements!" Hermione exclaimed, outraged.

"No?"

Hermione flushed, then muttered, "Ron did say the kiss was 'outstanding.' But I didn't ask him to!"

Snape laughed. It lasted for only a moment, but Hermione found herself grinning despite herself, and his wicked smile almost made her hide her face again.

"I daresay he anticipated that particular romantic need."

Hermione scowled. "He was just making fun of me."

"Hmm. Perhaps." His eyes were still glittering with amusement. "My point, Miss Granger, is that emotions cannot be confined to a calendar or planner. You cannot expect your romances to unfold in the same carefully reasoned manner as your essays."

"I know that," she said grumpily.

"But you wish you could," he supplied.

"No," she countered, pleased to defy him. "I wish I could turn all the logic off. You have no idea how distracting it is to kiss someone and spend the whole time analyzing the pros and cons of the relationship, or wondering if they've brushed their teeth or why they didn't shave or if your tongue is in the right place."

Snape grimaced. Hermione grimaced, too, remembering her first awkward kiss with Krum.

"No," Snape said. "That is not something I have ever experienced."

"Your kisses are normal?" Hermione asked, a little jealously.

Snape gave her a sharp look. "You forget who I am, Miss Granger."

She jumped a little. "Right. Er, sorry, sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then said, "Do you really think I have ever kissed anyone?"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid?

But then… was it stupid? Lily had died so long ago… "Never?" she asked tentatively.

Snape looked like he was struggling to decide whether he regretted revealing so much. "I loved Lily," he said finally.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes, and hastily blinked them away. She didn't think he would appreciate what would almost certainly appear to be pity. "That's… very honorable."

Snape snorted. "It had nothing to do with honor. I loved her. No one else ever compared."

Hermione flinched at that, and she knew he saw it.

"You are concerned my younger self may feel the same way?" he asked bluntly.

"No," Hermione said, knowing as she did that it was a lie, though she couldn't have explained to herself why. At Snape's look, she bit her lip and admitted, "Maybe."

"How… unexpected."

Hermione couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Although your friends did not seem to think so," Snape said slowly, glancing at Harry and Ginny where they lay asleep on the bed. "Indeed, they seemed convinced that you would attempt to marry _me._ "

Hermione fought another grimace, trying not to imagine how he had reacted to _that._ She could tell, from the way he said it, that it had been bothering him for hours, and that he had been searching for an opportunity to casually slip it into their conversation ever since the subject of romance had been raised.

"Ron started it," Hermione said, exasperated. "He's convinced we're secretly dating."

"Why?"

Hermione considered that. She had never really wondered _why;_ she had always just dismissed it as Ron being Ron. "Mostly I think he's jealous," she said finally. "Because I spend more time with you than with him these days. And because I'm willing to… well, to build something with you, even after everything you did, when I don't want to build anything with him."

Snape's eyes never left her face. "And what is it you are willing to build with me?"

Hermione hesitated, then said honestly, "A friendship, I hope."

His expression didn't change even a fraction, which might have made her nervous, if it hadn't been so obvious he was deliberately controlling it. "Why?"

Hermione looked at him in some surprise. "Why do I want to be your friend? Or why am I willing to?"

"Both," he said, with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

"I _want_ to be your friend," she said after a moment, "because you're brilliant and fascinating and I enjoy our conversations. You can be a bit intimidating," she admitted, "and I think it would be a long time before we could properly trust each other, but you're the only person I know who really challenges me intellectually, and you're probably also the only person who would never bore me with Quidditch talk."

Though it was clear Snape was still attempting to control his expression, he evidently couldn't resist a small sneer at that.

"You're also one of the few people who hasn't tried to push me into deciding what to do with my life now that the war - our war - is over. Everyone else has been quick to tell me about all my opportunities, but I think you might be the only one that understands that none of those opportunities are really right for me." She hesitated. "I still haven't decided what I want to do, and you're the only person who seems to think that's more a sign of prudence than failure."

Snape's lip curled bitterly. "At nineteen, I took the Dark Mark. I would never advise anyone to decide the course of their entire lives at that age."

"No," Hermione said. "You're the only one who seems to understand just how much there still is to know about the world."

She hesitated. She was well aware that everything she had said so far could have applied just as easily to a mentor as to a friend, and yet she _did_ want to be his friend. "I enjoy spending time with you," she said slowly. "Not only because you're brilliant. I can be myself around you in ways I can't around Harry and Ron. And you've become… dear to me, I suppose. Your quirks and your moods and your ridiculously dramatic insults. To an extent, I still think of you as my teacher, but the more time we've spent together, the more I think of you as just… a person. A person I would like to have in my life."

Snape's face was still mostly impassive, but she could see something unsettled in his eyes.

"And I'm _willing_ to be your friend," she added, remembering the second question, "because I think it would be good for both of us."

"Would it?" he asked, frowning at her.

She knew she was being terribly presumptuous, but she said firmly, "Yes."

"Hmm." Snape surveyed her for a moment, then said abruptly, "Your friends seemed to be under the impression that I have been harboring some secret intent to seduce you. Is that your impression as well?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "They _said_ that to you?" she squeaked.

Snape nodded, somewhat angrily. "They seemed shockingly undisturbed by the prospect."

Hermione pressed a palm to her forehead. "Oh, Harry." She looked at Snape. "I am _so_ sorry. How rude of them." _And mortifying,_ she thought, but she suspected it didn't need to be said; her cheeks were no doubt scarlet.

"You did not answer my question."

Hermione thought back. _Is that your impression as well?_ Snape had asked. "No," she said, calming slightly. "Of course not."

Some of the tension left his face. An expression of supreme discomfort passed over it, and he said jerkily, "I assure you, I have never had any intention of the kind."

"I know that," she said, uncomfortable on his behalf. She realized suddenly what he might think, after everything she had said, and especially after her marrying his younger self. "I've never had that intention toward you either."

He sneered, both bitter and relieved. "I told them it was absurd."

"It's not _absurd,_ " Hermione said. "It's just not how I feel."

Snape gave her a dangerous look. "And how, exactly, is it _not_ absurd? I am twenty years your senior, I have been your professor since you were eleven, I have been in love with another woman since long before you were born, and I am, in any case, ugly."

She rolled her eyes on the last word. "You're not _ugly._ Greyback was ugly. Riddle is ugly. You're… unconventional."

Snape snorted. "In other words, I am not quite as unappealing as monsters."

Hermione huffed in annoyance. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"Do I?"

"You're not handsome," she said bluntly, astonished by her daring and yet suspecting that he needed her to be honest. "But your features aren't _unpleasant._ You have beautiful eyes. You have a very expressive mouth. And you remember what Neville said about your eyebrow -"

"That it gave him nightmares?" Snape said, arching the brow in question.

"Well, yes," Hermione said. "But I'm sure you could use it to, er, other effect."

She could almost imagine a tinge of pink in Snape's cheeks.

"You have very dramatic cheekbones. And a strong jaw, like Frank said. And while your nose might not be _pretty,_ it certainly has _character._ And it fits with your other features. If you had a nice, small nose, your face wouldn't have the same intensity. You're very _striking,_ you know. _Especially,_ " she scowled, "when you take proper care of your hair."

He gave the frizzy, filthy mess on her head a pointed glance.

"I know," she said. "But I _could_ make it look good, if I wanted to. And I don't go around claiming I'm ugly just because I don't put in the effort."

Snape frowned. "I think it could universally be agreed upon that your face is not remotely comparable to mine, Miss Granger."

Hermione shrugged. "They're just faces, anyway. What does it matter? Ron isn't handsome, and I liked him."

"I am still not convinced that was not the result of serious head trauma."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Snape seemed to take a moment to savor the insult before continuing, "Very well. I accept that you claim not to find me physically repulsive. It does not negate the other facts that render any idea of a romantic attachment on your part absurd."

It must really be bothering him, Hermione thought, for him to be clinging so tenaciously to the subject. "I don't think the age difference is as important," she said, shrugging. "Or it wouldn't be, if I hadn't known you since I was eleven. Age alone isn't an indicator of maturity, though. Or do you think the Sirius Black of our world was more mature than me?"

Snape hesitated, lip curled, then conceded with a jerk of his head. "Point taken. Although I hope you never harbored a crush on _him._ "

"After a year of thinking he was going to murder us all, and then listening to him boast about trying to murder you? No."

"I am relieved to hear it."

"I understand why you think it would be absurd for me to have feelings for you," Hermione said. "I can only imagine how disturbing it would be for you - you watched me grow up. But from my perspective, you've always been the same, while I've changed. It wouldn't be absurd if the way I saw you changed, too. You went from being the vaguely terrifying, impossible-to-please teacher to the complex, deeply determined man whose bravery and sheer nerve kept hundreds of students alive during the war, at enormous personal cost. I can't look at you and just see the professor who used to call me a 'know-it-all.' I've seen too many other sides of you now."

"So now I am a hero," he sneered.

"No. I still remember that comment about my teeth, you know."

That gave him pause. "Not very heroic, was it?"

"No." Hermione frowned. "And, as I said, I _don't_ feel that way about you, but it doesn't have anything to do with your age or the fact that you were my teacher. It's - well, it's your complete emotional unavailability, to be honest."

Snape snorted. "Never have I been more grateful for it than now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not like it would _matter_ if I liked you," she said. "Obviously nothing would ever happen."

"I would just be another Lockhart?"

"I like to think I've grown up a _little_ since then," Hermione said, sniffing.

Snape's eyes glittered again. "I suppose my younger self has not become quite so emotionally stunted."

Hermione flushed, but said, "Not quite, no."

Snape looked amused. Hermione shook her head at him. "He's just as much in love with Lily as you are."

"I doubt that," he said immediately.

Hermione was caught off guard. "But - why?"

"Because," he said simply, "he met you."

* * *

Severus's heart was beating so fast and so loudly it seemed impossible that his older self and Hermione hadn't noticed it. He was grateful his filthy hair had fallen forward in his sleep to cover his face. Though he had managed to keep his breathing even (barely), he didn't think the flush in his cheeks could have possibly gone unnoticed. As it was, the desire to curl up and hide was so strong he was afraid his muscles were going to start spasming with the effort it took to resist.

He had, of course, heard everything.

He had awoken to the sharp scent of Pepper-Up. He had been tired enough that he had never even considered lifting his head. His body ached so badly it reminded him of those months in Azkaban, when broken bones and infections had kept him in a perpetual state of pain. At Dobby's insistence, he had tried to eat when they had first returned to the tent, but he had thrown everything up again before passing out, and as he had groggily regained consciousness to the overpowering scent of Pepper-Up, he had heard his stomach churning.

Evidently, Hermione and his older self had _not_ heard it. Moreover, they seemed to be convinced he had gone deaf in his sleep. In growing incredulity, he had listened as they had proceeded to have what might have been the most personal conversation he had ever overheard.

Listening to Hermione discuss her prior romantic attachments filled him with an uncomfortable, almost angry feeling. It was unfair of him, and completely irrational, but he couldn't help wondering just how many boys she had kissed. Had her head been full of thoughts on whether or not he had brushed his teeth or shaved when they had kissed at the Ministry? Obviously her tongue had not been involved then, so at least she hadn't been worried about that…

But why did he even care? The kiss at the Ministry had been a farce, and he had found it as repulsive as she no doubt had. To compare it to a kiss she had willingly sought out and enjoyed was as disgusting as the marriage law itself.

Then again, by the sounds of it, she hadn't much enjoyed any of her previous kisses, either.

That probably shouldn't have pleased him, but it did.

Of course, then his older self had to go and admit, freely, that he had never kissed anyone at all. Severus knew Hermione had probably suspected that of _him_ already, but the idea of her hearing that even at thirty-nine he would still be so pitifully in love with Lily that he had never even considered anyone else made his insides squirm. Would she even believe the excuse? After all, he doubted women had been lining up to date his older self. Even if he had wanted to move on from Lily, would any other woman have taken him?

Hermione probably knew as well as he did that his older self could have begged on hands and knees and never gotten more than a sneer or a mocking giggle in response to his ugly face.

But Hermione… didn't think he was ugly.

He felt the same doubt, the same conviction that she was lying out of kindness, that he knew his older self felt. But Hermione was so calm, so matter-of-fact in her presentation, that Severus almost found himself doubting his doubt.

And he remembered, suddenly, the way he had looked in the Mirror of Erised - still himself in every way, and yet not ugly, not detestable, simply… himself.

He felt a sort of painful fluttering in his chest at the idea that Hermione could see that, too.

It wasn't that he fancied her. He had only known her for a week. But there was a familiarity between them that he had never shared with anyone, not even Lily. Though he and Lily had been friends, she had always been so high above him that he had sometimes felt more of an abject gratitude for her than any sense of equality in their companionship.

He felt no abject gratitude for Hermione, though she had done more for him than Lily ever had. He was grateful, but he was also her equal. And yet he would never have said that Lily was in any way higher than her.

But how was it possible, that Hermione could be Lily's equal, and yet Severus could also be hers?

Severus's friendship with Hermione was as different from his friendship with Lily as night and day, and yet he could not, in the midst of his eavesdropping, silence his thoughts long enough to actually define the difference.

He was too busy listening to Hermione accuse his older self of an evidently unattractive level of emotional unavailability.

One which, according to his older self, Severus himself did not share.

"He's just as much in love with Lily as you are," Hermione said.

Severus felt a twist in his stomach, but whether it was at her words or the wistfulness in her tone, he wasn't sure. His older self, damn him, answered easily (and accurately), "I doubt that."

"But - why?" Hermione was obviously shocked.

"Because," his traitorous older self said, "he met you."

Severus twitched, or perhaps it was simply the long-anticipated muscle spasm. He froze, certain the other two had noticed, but the conversation continued unabated.

"He doesn't like me that way," Hermione said, sounding doubtful.

"Whether he likes you or not is irrelevant," Severus's older self said. "You have demonstrated to him that Lily is not the only worthwhile human being on the planet. I suspect the effect was profound."

Severus scowled into his arms. His older self was right, of course, but why the hell couldn't he keep his self-analysis to his own self?

Hermione sounded like she was not quite ready to accept the man's explanation. "I'm sure he already knew that."

"I assure you, he did not."

"But then what makes you so sure he does now?"

His older self snorted. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but he stayed with _you_ during the battle, did he not?"

"Yes. But of course he wasn't just going to leave me!"

"He would have, if you had meant nothing to him."

"Well, of course I mean _something_ to him, we've been living together for a week!"

"There is no 'of course' about it," the older Severus said. "I shared a dorm with five other Slytherins for seven years. Do you think I would have hesitated to abandon them to certain death if it had meant saving Lily?"

"That's different," Hermione said, though she sounded less sure.

"It is not different. I cared for no one but Lily until well into my twenties, and even then my attachments were only professional. Do you think my younger self's attachment to you is professional?"

Severus could practically feel Hermione's blush radiating outward. "No. We're friends."

"That is a rare and precious thing, to me."

Quietly, Hermione said, "To me, too."

"Perhaps. But you have never dedicated your entire soul to one person."

"No," Hermione said slowly, then, with obvious hesitation, she added, "and I'm not entirely sure that's healthy."

The older Severus snorted. "It most certainly is not. I am immeasurably relieved that you have spared my younger self from such a fate."

Severus could hear the uncertainty in her tone. "Do you really think I did?"

"Yes. Whatever happens between you, I am certain he will be a better, healthier man for having known you. Who knows? He may even have a chance at happiness."

" _You_ could be happy."

"Unlikely, Miss Granger."

She made some kind of exasperated noise. Severus felt like kicking his older self under the table. He sounded like such an old, cranky bore.

"Happiness doesn't just happen by accident," Hermione said. "You have to work hard for it."

"I suppose you prepare for it with schedules and to-do lists."

"I do," she said, unabashed. "It's very helpful."

"You are absurd."

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

"How am _I_ absurd?"

"For one thing," Harry said groggily from the bed, "you're arguing with Hermione. For another, shouldn't you two be working?"

The table jerked beneath Severus as someone (probably Hermione) gave a guilty start. He took that as his queue to feign awakening.

"What time is it?" he asked, blinking in the candlelight.

"After midnight," Hermione said, looking guilty and embarrassed. "We just - er - took a little break."

She was fairly red in the face. Severus caught Harry's eye across the tent, wondering just how much the other boy had heard. But Harry simply dropped his messy head of hair back down on the pillow and slumped into the mattress, with no indication whatsoever that he had heard anything to unsettle him.

Then again, according to Severus's older self, Harry wasn't even unsettled by the idea of Hermione ending up with a man twice her age. Maybe a young otherworldly version of the same man didn't seem out of the question, either.

The older Severus drew out his wand and pointed it at Hermione's ring.

"Let us resume."


	39. Chapter 39

39

The winter sun was filtering through the tent's canvas in an all-too-familiar way when Harry opened his eyes. For a horrifying moment, he thought he was back on the run, hunting Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione.

Then he remembered that he was in an alternate world, preparing to hunt Horcruxes with Ginny and Hermione. And Snape. Two Snapes.

A wave of misery washed over him. Not because they were Horcrux hunting again – no, that was a relief. A chance to get it right. But they hadn't gotten anything right yesterday. One plan after another had gone wrong: all of their careful preparations, the Portkey in the crypts, their efforts in the battle… Harry could still remember that eerie green light creeping from Voldemort's wand, and how he had hidden like a coward rather than rise up to stop it. How many more people had died because he hadn't wanted to take the risk? How many people had been forced to see their loved ones twitching and shuffling toward them, dead and pale and monstrous?

Remus was dead. Flitwick was dead. His grandparents were dead. None of this was supposed to happen.

He and Ginny had argued bitterly about it. She kept telling him (rightly, he knew in some small part of his brain) that it wasn't their fault – that this had happened because of the marriage law, not because of them – but how could they really know? Hermione had backed Voldemort into a corner by turning in so many of his Death Eaters to the Aurors, and Hermione was only here because of him. Would Voldemort have been quite so eager to attack Harry's parents' wedding if he hadn't lost half his forces in the week leading up to it? Would Pettigrew have let the Death Eaters into the church if his treachery had stayed a secret?

Harry didn't blame Hermione for what she had done. He would have done the same thing. Get the Death Eaters out of the way, hunt the Horcruxes, reveal Pettigrew for the worthless little rat he was. It was the _right_ thing. So how could it have gone so wrong?

He was beginning to understand, in a way he hadn't before, why Dumbledore had relied so heavily on Snape. He knew Snape had made a difference in the war, that he had protected the students during that final year and revealed his all-important memories to Harry right at the most crucial moment, but he had never really appreciated the years of work Snape had put in before Dumbledore's death. Using a spy instead of instigating an all-out battle had always seemed a little dishonorable to Harry. He had been ready to jump right into the fight from the moment Voldemort rose from that cauldron in the graveyard, and he knew many of the other Order members had felt the same way. They had known the Death Eaters' names and faces – so why hadn't they hunted them down?

The answer was so obvious now, Harry couldn't believe he hadn't grasped it before. If the Order had forced Voldemort into a fight, Voldemort would have fought back. And he would have been crueler and stronger and deadlier than any of his enemies.

The death toll of the war in Harry's world had been great. But how many of those deaths had come in the final battle, when Harry had (unintentionally) forced Voldemort into an open confrontation? Probably as many as in all the months and years leading up to the battle combined.

In battle, neither the Order nor the Ministry stood a chance against Voldemort. Yesterday, Voldemort had lost nearly every single one of his Death Eaters, and yet he had still raised an army with only a few moments' spell-casting.

If they were going to win, really win, without losing everything, then they needed to find a better way. A more Slytherin way, maybe.

Harry closed his eyes against another wave of despair. If he had realized it sooner – if Hermione had realized it –

He wondered if it would be possible to go back to the Guardian and ask it to send them back, to change this.

He wondered how many other worlds there were that they could save.

Pushing a sudden wild, dangerous feeling aside, Harry sat up, blinking in the pale light. Hermione and both Snapes were sitting at the table, bent over Hermione's outstretched hand and its unassuming ring while Fiend watched from the older Snape's lap. Harry could see at a glance that none of them had slept, or even showered. The faint stench of blood and possibly sewage was emanating from all of them, but their tired, red eyes were so focused on the rings Harry doubted they had even noticed.

He couldn't blame them. If the Ministry – if _Umbridge –_ had shoved a ring on his finger, he didn't think he'd have been able to focus on much else, either.

Rubbing the scars on the back of his hand, he got up, went to the bathroom, then started making breakfast in Hermione's small kitchen. Within seconds, Dobby was at his side.

"Hermione Granger's friend must not be making breakfast!" he squeaked in such a painfully familiar way that Harry had to blink against a sudden sting in his eyes. "Dobby will be making breakfast for everyone! Dobby should not have been sleeping so late," he added guiltily, swaying dangerously toward the edge of the countertop.

"If anyone deserved some extra sleep, it was you, Dobby," Harry said. "You were brilliant, catching Pettigrew."

Dobby beamed at him. Harry had the feeling it wouldn't be hard to become friends with him here, even if, in this world, Harry wasn't the Boy Who Lived, champion of the downtrodden and everything else his Dobby had once admired in him.

"Dobby will be making breakfast," the elf said again, insistently and rather bossily. "Hermione Granger's friend will sit down!"

With a glance at Hermione, who was shooting the two of them a slightly pained look, Harry returned to the bed, where Ginny was still out like a light. Harry had already showered last night, and Hermione, ever prepared, had found him some pajamas in her beaded bag, but that left him with nothing to do now but alternate between watching Dobby cook and watching Hermione and the two Snapes try to solve a problem not even Dumbledore had been able to handle. He couldn't help feeling a little useless.

"If we are unable to find a solution," the older Snape was saying, "and I am forced to transport you back –" he hesitated, with a glance at Dobby, "home, we may face significant difficulties."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Can't you just turn them into bats like you did us?"

Snape gave him a slightly annoyed look. "As I was about to explain, Potter… The magic of the rings is bound to the magic of the wearers. It has, in essence, become a part of them. Though there are ways of severing the bond, animal Transfiguration is not one of them. In the same way that Transfiguring a werewolf into an animal cannot remove the werewolf curse, despite the fact that animals themselves are not affected by it, Transfiguring a witch or wizard wearing one of these rings will not sever the connection to the bond. The ring attaches itself to the wearer in much the same way that a curse would. Only a counter-curse will sever the bond, and such a spell could not be cast without alerting the Ministry instantly to the wearer's location."

Harry gaped at him. "But that's Dark magic, isn't it? The ring?"

"Very good, Potter. I am pleased that six years of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have not been wholly wasted on you."

Harry rolled his eyes. As one of the few students who had achieved an Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense, he couldn't really take Snape's comment to heart.

"What I don't understand," Hermione said in a tired, angry voice, "is how they could have gotten away with this. Surely the Wizengamot reviewed the rings? Surely they would have recognized what they were?"

"Maybe they didn't care," the younger Snape said bitterly.

"But the magic isn't just connected to the wearers!" Hermione exclaimed, upset. "If the witch gets pregnant, it's connected to the baby, too! I think even the Wizengamot would hesitate to allow something like _that._ And surely the Healers would notice!"

"I do not think it likely," the older Snape said, "that the Wizengamot examined the rings at all. And maternity Healers are not typically trained in the Dark Arts. It is probable they would not understand the precise effect the rings have."

"Does it hurt the babies?" Harry asked, disturbed.

"Not," Hermione said, shaking with anger, "if they're magical."

"That's disgusting," Ginny said, sitting up behind Harry. "That's evil."

"No wonder Umbridge was involved," Harry said, clenching his fist. "It sounds like something she'd want to be a part of – a Dark object that links to the person it's touching, it's the Blood Quills all over again, only –"

"THAT'S IT!" Hermione shrieked, leaping to her feet as everyone jumped a mile, including Dobby, who dropped a frying pan on the floor with a loud clatter.

"What's it?" Ginny asked.

Hermione was clutching her hair, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Harry half-expected her to go tearing off to the library.

"I think… yes… yes, I think it will work!" she cried.

" _What_ will work?" Snape asked impatiently.

But Hermione only raced to her beaded bag and started rummaging around in it, ignoring everyone. Snape opened his mouth to say something else, and Harry shook his head at him.

"Best to just wait it out," he advised.

Hermione pulled a surprisingly thin tome titled _Linking Charms_ out of her bag and began frantically paging through it.

"I think I remember… yes… yes, it's here, yes, I think this is it!"

There was a slightly manic tone to her voice. Harry watched the two Snapes exchange a wary glance. Then the younger one cautiously stood up and went to crouch beside Hermione on the floor.

For several seconds, there was silence as he read over her shoulder. Then his face went pale.

"You don't think –" he began in a hushed tone.

"Don't you?" she asked, gazing up at him.

His brow furrowing, he bent over the book again. His expression was somewhere between ragged hope and intense concentration. The older Snape, frowning, stood as if to join them, but at that moment Hermione sprang to her feet.

"It _will_ work," she said, sounding determined and terrified in equal measure.

" _What_ will work?" Snape asked, annoyed.

"It's like Harry said," Hermione said, giving Harry credit that he was certain he did not deserve, because he had no idea what was going on. "There's a link between the ring and the wearer."

"We already established that," Snape said, looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"But don't you see?" Hermione asked. "Linking Charms are like chains. You can always add another link – and another and another. It's what Riddle did with the Dark Marks. It's what I did with the Galleons."

"Your point, Miss Granger?"

"The wards at the church fell because Pettigrew was already inside them," Hermione said. "He wasn't repelled by them, he was protected within them. And when he activated the link in the Dark Mark, all of the other Death Eaters came under the wards' protection, too."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I am well aware of the power of the Dark Mark, Miss Granger. Perhaps even more aware than you."

"But don't you see?" she asked eagerly. "We just need to expand the link! If Severus and I are linked to someone who _is_ fulfilling the requirements, then –"

"- it will appear to the Ministry that you are fulfilling them, too," Snape said, his face suddenly a mirror image of his younger self's intensity.

"It's that simple?" Harry asked, baffled.

They all turned to stare at him with varying degrees of disbelief.

"Simple?" Snape said in a quiet, dangerous tone. "Mr. Potter, the chances of our developing such a spell before the rings' deadline is exceedingly small."

"It's immensely complex," Hermione said anxiously. "And it's not like the Linking Charms I've studied had anything to do with sex…"

Harry made a face. So did both of the Snapes.

"We can use the enchantments on the ring as a model," the older Snape said. "But we will need to find a couple who is willing to be linked to you, and to do what is required before the deadline this afternoon."

Hermione bit her lip. Severus looked sickened by the thought. Harry had the sudden awful, absolutely disturbing thought that they might ask his parents.

Snape rolled his eyes at their expressions. "I think Frank and Alice Longbottom would agree to help you."

Hermione looked relieved. Severus still looked like he had swallowed a cockroach.

Snape looked at Harry. "Perhaps you and Miss Weasley could go ask them."

"Us?" Harry asked, horrified.

"Come on, Harry, it won't be that bad," Ginny said, with a little mischievous grin that made him deeply uncomfortable. "And it's not like we can help Hermione and Snape with the sex spell."

Despite his acceptance that Hermione might very well someday end up with one or the other of the Snapes, Harry would have given a great deal to have never heard Ginny speak those words.

"Er, right," he said. "Do any of you know where the Longbottoms live?"

They all glanced at each other, then at Dobby, who shook his floppy-eared head. "Dobby is not knowing. Perhaps Lily Potter knows?"

Harry's stomach lurched, half-excited at the prospect of seeing his mum again, half-unsettled at the idea of seeing her the morning after her wedding night. "Er… all right. Do you know where she's living now? Is she with my – I mean, is she living with James?"

"Dobby is not knowing, sir. But Dobby will help Hermione Granger's friends find out!"

"That'd be brilliant, Dobby," Harry said, grinning at the elf.

Dobby grinned, too, then sobered. "But first Hermione Granger and her friends must be eating breakfast."

Harry's stomach rumbled loudly. "Well, if you insist."

* * *

Lily was curled up on what she suspected would become her side of the bed, with James sprawled out somewhere behind her. Everything in the house was silent, except for the very light sound of his breathing, and the much closer, but somehow even lighter, sound of her own.

She was afraid to move and wake him. She wanted these few moments to herself, to adjust to this new reality, to being a soldier and a victim and a wife.

The trauma of the previous day's battle felt like it had happened years ago. The sounds and images were sporadically imprinted on her brain, as vivid in some places as a nightmare, as vague in others as a fading dream. She felt disconnected and hollow. There was no sharp grief, no nauseating horror. Her whole life had shifted in the span of a few hours, and yet it felt now as if this was the only way it had ever been.

She tried, first with dread, then with a deep feeling of unease, to reach into her memory and _feel_ it again. She couldn't. She wasn't even sure she remembered James kissing her, or the walk up the aisle. She could see the blood spurting from the officiant's skull as he fell, but the image hung disconnected in her mind, detached from any shock or fear. She wasn't sure if the echoing crashes she had heard were from the giants or her own thundering heart.

She knew she had set an Inferius on fire, but though she remembered the sight of its burning body flailing in the garden of the house where they'd been hiding, she had no memory of casting the spell. She had seen James's parents lain out, dead and burned, in the square, and yet she couldn't remember seeing them at the ceremony. Bits and pieces were missing from the entire day, as if her memory had collapsed like the church, the precious stained glass moments shattered and lost within the wreckage and dust. It frightened her how much she didn't remember. Last night, she was certain, it had all been clear.

But then she had buried it. Deliberately, and with enormous effort, she had shut away all thought of the church and the square, of the Inferi climbing out of the crypts and the massacred guests lined up in hideously neat rows of covered ruin. It would not have been possible to be with James if she hadn't shut it all off, but now she wondered if she had shut it all away forever.

Being with James had been… comforting. It had been nothing like she had imagined, and nothing like she had hoped for. They had been too tired and broken for it to mean anything more than a brief respite from the horrors that had chased them through the day. Lily didn't think she was disappointed, but she wasn't happy, either. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected, from the sad look James had given her afterward, that it had made him unhappy, too.

If she hadn't been trapped in some kind of internal state of collapse, she thought it might have torn her apart. But what was there left to be torn apart? Dozens were dead, because she had wanted a real wedding. How much more disgusting would it have been if she had enjoyed a wonderful wedding night after that?

She felt a surreal sense of the horror of it all, surreal enough that she could almost believe it had been a nightmare, something she could go back and change. If she could wake up and try again…

But there was no undoing this. She had lost her friends, her new family, her teachers and classmates and neighbors. She had lost all sense of safety. She had lost her wedding and her virginity. After everything she had seen and learned in the last week, she thought that in some ways she might have even lost James. He had certainly lost her, in ways she didn't think he understood.

Though she had made it through the battle with barely a scratch on her, she felt as though something inside her ribcage had broken apart, and the ache only sharpened as she sat up, staring at the sun cutting coldly through the curtains, gleaming in ice florets around the window's edge.

She wanted to go home to her mum, to curl up in her bedroom again, to be safe and warm and taken care of. It felt painful to put her feet on the cold floor and stand up, to quietly walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, to start making her own tea, her own breakfast, at her own table, in her own house.

She just wanted to go home.

She ate her toast without really tasting it, drank her tea without noticing she had forgotten to add sugar, then laid her head down on the table and imagined she could sink down into the wood.

When the knock came at the front door, it felt like someone was tapping a hammer against her fragile bones.

Her heart was racing before she had even fully processed the sound. She didn't want to answer it. She wanted to run back upstairs and hide.

It was several seconds before she got her wildly careening mind back under control. Only an Order member could have found them here. Order members were safe.

She stood up, only half-convinced, and looked out the window.

The sight of the weird Harry boy who looked like James was somehow more comforting to her than all the hours of reassurances James had whispered in her ear.

She opened the door. He had brought his pretty girlfriend with him. And between them –

"Lily Potter! Dobby is bringing friends to see you, miss! Dobby is hoping Lily Potter is wanting to see them?"

"Yes," Lily said. Her voice was strangely hoarse. "Thank you, Dobby. I'm very happy to see them."

The words were untrue, of course. She was not happy. But she was glad they were there.

"If Hermione Granger's friends are not needing anything else, Dobby will be going."

Harry looked startled, and a little hurt. "You're leaving?"

"Dobby is needing to prepare lunch," Dobby said, his entire body twitching peculiarly.

"Er – all right," Harry said.

"Bye, Dobby," Ginny added.

"Goodbye, friends of Hermione Granger! Goodbye, Lily Potter!"

He Disapparated with a crack.

"Lunch, my arse," Ginny muttered.

"I hope he doesn't punish himself," Harry said worriedly. "For lying, I mean."

"Where else would he go?" Lily asked, feeling a wave of confusion through her numbness.

"Moody," Harry said calmly. "Dobby's spying on Hermione for him, you know."

Lily couldn't remember if she had known that. The last week was almost as much of a blur as the wedding.

"Would you like to sit down?" Lily asked, showing them into the sitting room.

"Er – where's James?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Still sleeping," Lily said. She glanced at the clock. It was barely eight in the morning. She didn't think it was too outrageous that James had slept in.

Harry had some kind of uncomfortable expression on his James-like face, but Ginny seemed unperturbed.

"We were hoping you could help us find the Longbottoms," she said.

Lily felt a real jolt of surprise. "Why?"

Ginny glanced at Harry, then said, "Because Hermione thinks she's found a way to trick the rings."

Lily stared. "But even Dumbledore –"

"I know," Harry said, shaking his head. "I can't believe he didn't think of it."

"I can," Ginny said. When they both looked at her, she shrugged. "Dumbledore was trying to get around the marriage law entirely, wasn't he? Hermione's solution doesn't really avoid the law, it just transfers the burden of fulfilling the requirements to someone else. If Dumbledore was trying to find a way to save everyone, of course it wouldn't have worked."

"But what is the solution? What do you mean, 'transfer the burden of fulfilling the requirements'? You mean they can fulfill the requirements with someone else?"

"No, no," Ginny said hastily. "It means they can link their rings to someone else's rings, I think. To another couple's. That way when they – you know – 'fulfill the requirements' – it looks like it's really Severus and Hermione, er, doing it."

Harry made a face. The expression was strangely familiar to Lily, and yet it didn't look like the faces James sometimes made.

"So… So you want to link their rings to Alice's and Frank's?" she asked, catching up.

"Yeah, we thought they'd be willing to agree to it."

"But why not just link them to ours?" she asked, confused.

Ginny and Harry exchanged a look.

"Well…" Harry said awkwardly.

Ginny sighed. "We didn't think Severus would want to have his ring light up every time you and James are having sex."

Lily remembered the glow that had emerged from her own ring last night, and flushed. "Oh."

Ginny was giving Lily a slightly sharp look, as if she thought Lily should have thought of that on her own. Harry's face was twisted into the same familiar grimace. It occurred to Lily suddenly that it was a little like the faces Petunia sometimes made.

"Alice and Frank are probably at work," she said. "At the Ministry."

"Can you contact them?" Ginny asked, a little urgently. "Hermione and Severus only have until three this afternoon to, you know, consummate things."

Lily nodded, feeling relieved to have something to do, something meaningful. "I'll get them. I'll go now."

Harry stood up as if to go with her, but Ginny said, "We shouldn't go, Harry. The last thing we want is Crouch deciding to look up our records."

Lily arched her eyebrows at that. "Why?"

They glanced at each other again. "Er," Harry said. "Well, for one thing, we're not really married." He lifted his hand with the fake ring.

"We're not old enough to have to," Ginny added quickly. "But better not to draw attention, right?"

Lily had the distinct feeling they were hiding something, but she couldn't imagine what it might be. There were, in any case, plenty of reasons why anyone wouldn't want to draw the Ministry's attention these days, and Dumbledore wouldn't have invited these two to last night's Order meeting if he didn't trust that they were on the right side.

As if she needed any evidence of that. She had watched them save lives at the wedding. They had saved hers.

"You can stay here," she said. "I'll be back with Frank and Alice as soon as I can."

* * *

Moody didn't have time to train the Longbottoms, but he couldn't afford not to, either. The Aurors they had lost in this war had been good ones, highly trained and highly skilled, and yet that hadn't saved them. He'd be damned if he sent two kids out to fight without giving them every advantage he could.

Crouch had given him a deadline of one week. One week, to squeeze in years' worth of learning. One week, on top of the few months of training that had already been accelerated beyond reason.

If the Longbottoms survived this war, it would be a bloody miracle.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared at them, as they began the obstacle course he had set.

The Auror Division had a number of training rooms, all easily Transfigured to resemble the real-life scenarios Aurors might face. The Aurors had a trove of Dark objects at their disposal, confiscated over the centuries from wizards who had wasted away in Azkaban for their crimes. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures regularly provided them with Dark creatures, as well, and of course the Aurors had their own store of poisons.

Today, Moody had decided to throw everything at them. There wasn't time to break it down into realistic scenarios. Today, the Longbottoms got a worst case imaginable. After the attack in Godric's Hollow the day before, it seemed less unrealistic than Moody might have thought.

Having them train together went against the grain. Aurors were supposed to stay focused, and having a loved one right there was a distraction. But Moody knew it was a distraction they'd be facing in a real fight, the two love-struck fools, so he shoved them into it together. No time for separate courses, anyway.

The practice room resembled a quaint English village. Cottages, pubs, churches, the works. The task was simple, or at least simple to explain.

Save the village.

"You got an anonymous tip," Moody had growled at them. "The village is in danger. You don't know how or why. You don't know what's waiting for you. You go check it out." He fixed them with a dark look. "Save the village."

He already knew, of course, that they couldn't.

He suspected Frank, who was usually pretty perceptive about these things, already knew how bad it would be. The nature of the task, and its similarity to the nightmare they had lived through only yesterday, would not be lost on him. Alice was grim and determined, but he could see the exhaustion underneath, and a deep, perhaps unconquerable fear: the memory of the attack on Godric's Hollow was still tormenting her.

It was cruel to throw them into it again so soon. Cruel to make them relive it. But Voldemort wouldn't hesitate, and neither could Moody.

He stood at the top of what appeared to be a tall stone wall, watching Frank and Alice navigate the fake streets, wands out. The village had been quiet for just long enough to really set them on edge. Even from here, he could see the frustrated fear on Alice's face.

When the cave troll exploded through the building beside her, she let out a wild, angry shriek.

After that it was pandemonium. There were two real trolls, a chimaera, and about a dozen fire crabs. There were simulations of werewolves, vampires, Dementors, Inferi, and giants. Dark objects came hurtling from roofs and windows; Dark curses burst from hidden corners and nooks, indicating Dark wizards (animated dummies) were present. The innocent villagers, also dummies, staggered around dying, fake blood spurting from their wounds. A ravening, blood-streaked werewolf conjuration ripped out the throat of a small, beribboned dummy girl a mere second before Alice cut off the wolf's head.

Within moments of the first cave troll's appearance, Frank had sent Moody a Patronus asking for reinforcements. Moody waited twenty minutes before climbing down from the wall and into the village.

By then, there was no village left. Frank had been paralyzed by a curse; Alice crouched beside him, crying and slashing with her wand at the Dark dummies surrounding them. Even before Moody got to her, a curse struck her in the neck and brought her down.

" _Reversio,_ " Moody said.

The dummies returned to their stations. Dark objects lifted themselves off the floor and flew back to hiding places out of sight. The simulated Dark creatures disappeared, while those of the real creatures that were still alive shuffled helplessly away, unable to break free of the spells controlling them. A handful of dead fire crabs twitched as the magic passed over them, then vanished. The corpse of the cave troll Alice had killed scraped across the streets and out of the room, to be disposed of later.

Frank and Alice moved, the curses holding them broken.

"Up you get," Moody said.

Wordlessly, they staggered to their feet. Frank was bleeding from a cut on his face; Alice was still crying, though Moody suspected it was in fury more than anything. Without speaking, they made their way back to the wall where Moody had been standing.

Neither of the trainees asked why Moody hadn't responded to their call for backup. If the battle in Godric's Hollow had taught them anything, it was that the Auror Division could not be trusted to respond promptly to summons for help. Moody, for his part, didn't bother to praise them for the Dark creatures and wizards, real and otherwise, they had vanquished. They all knew it wasn't enough.

" _Renovo,_ " Moody said.

With a loud sound of scraping and shuffling, the village rearranged itself. The streets wound in different directions, the houses switched places and changed colors, and the creatures and traps concealed throughout the room found new positions.

"Again," Moody said.

Alice shot him a brief, pained, incredulous look. Frank, Moody thought, was expecting it. Together, the two trainees set out again, while Moody climbed awkwardly up to the wall, the stump of his leg aching.

This time, when the chaos began, Frank sent two Patronuses – one to Moody the Auror, one to Moody the Order member – the second of which addressed him as Dumbledore, asking for reinforcements.

Moody appreciated the thought, and waited only ten minutes before entering the fray.

Half the village was in flames. Innocent dummies lay dead in the streets in pools of fake blood, while the corpse of the fake giant crushed buildings and dummies alike. Moody took out a Dark dummy that ran at him, dodged a few falling Dark objects, then began getting the fire under control.

When he found Frank and Alice, they were both lying motionless, surrounded by the fake bodies of werewolves and Inferi.

" _Reversio,_ " Moody said.

This time, when Frank and Alice got up, they both had a trace of dread in their eyes.

" _Renovo,_ " Moody said when they had returned to the wall. He looked at them without mercy. "Again."

They were in the middle of the fifth such exercise when someone knocked on the door behind Moody. He scowled as Savage opened it.

"We're in the middle of something."

Savage gave him a look, the I-wouldn't-be-interrupting-you-unless-it-were-necessary look. "Lily Potter is here. She says it's urgent."

Moody's scowl deepened. "Let her in."

Savage ducked out. A moment later, Lily Potter, looking tired but a little less fragile than the last time he had seen her, slipped inside the room.

When she saw the village burning, she backed up against the wall with a look of utter terror on her face.

Moody shook his head. Maybe they needed to start training sessions like these for Order members, as well. Lily Potter certainly wouldn't be any help whatsoever if she got Frank's urgent Patronus calling for help.

"What d'you need, girl?"

She turned wide, frightened eyes on him. She was actually trembling. "Alice – and – and F-Frank –"

He considered telling her to go find them, but she wasn't made of the same stuff as her friend.

"Wait here," he commanded.

It took him a few minutes to retrieve the Longbottoms. A fake vampire lunged at him from a doorway, which would have been no trouble if the second (very much alive) cave troll hadn't chosen that moment to drop off the roof of the building next to him and start bashing his club into everything in sight, including Moody.

The vampire exploded in a burst of rotten blood. Moody, winded and aching, scowled as a few Dark dishes flew at him from a broken kitchen window. Raising his wand, he yelled, " _Reversio!_ "

Coughing a little, he stood up. From what sounded like one street over, Alice called out, "But we're still alive!"

"You've got a visitor!" he hollered back. He started lurching back over the shifting cobblestones (the street had been damaged by the troll's club, and was reforming itself), keeping an eye out for the Longbottoms. They would hardly be the first trainees to try to catch an old Auror off his guard. Frank probably wouldn't do it, but Alice? He'd be more surprised if she didn't, some day or other.

They made it back to the wall at the same time. Lily Potter was still standing flattened against the door.

"Lily?" Alice asked, alarmed. "Is everything all right – is James –"

Lily nodded, obviously trying to pull herself together. "He's f-fine." Her gaze went to the village. "What are you _doing?_ "

"Training," Alice said, more casually than Moody knew she felt. "What's wrong?"

Lily shook her head, perhaps to indicate that nothing was wrong, perhaps only to shake away the horror of their training plan. "Hermione Granger thinks she's found a way to – er – circumvent the thing she didn't want to do."

She glanced around, as if expecting Crouch to pop out of the shadows.

"You're joking," Alice said, sounding awed. "Has she really?"

"I'm not sure," Lily said. "They haven't tried it yet. They, er, need your help." She glanced between Alice and Frank.

Moody arched his brows. "And how are they supposed to help?"

Lily glanced around again, lowering her voice. "Some kind of Linking Charm. Between you two and them. So that when you, er, do the thing she didn't want to do, it looks like she's doing it, too."

Moody felt a surge of amazement, followed by incredible triumph. "Brilliant."

The Longbottoms looked at him, taken aback by his generous praise. But he could see from the brightness in their eyes that they were processing the potential the spell had, the difference it could make – even if they could only reduce the victims of the marriage law by half, that was a victory beyond anything they had hoped for. And if they could manage to link multiple sham couples to the same real couple… Lovebirds like Frank and Alice or Lily and James could bear the weight of the law for everyone.

It had a hell of a lot of potential, if Granger could actually pull it off.

"All right," Moody growled. "We'll take a little break from training. Come back when you've, er, finished."

Alice rolled her eyes, while Frank narrowed his, but they nodded their goodbyes and followed Lily out.

Moody was just wondering whether Crouch would notice if he slipped out and Apparated to Hogwarts when a loud CRACK split the air.

His wand was up and ready to fire in a second, but it was only the blasted house-elf.

"Dobby," he growled. "Someday I'm going to curse you by accident, and you'll have no one but yourself to blame."

Dobby gave him a bland look. "Dobby is used to threats, Auror Moody."

"It's not a threat, you silly elf. You damn near gave me a heart attack."

Dobby's ears drooped slightly in penitence, but Moody could tell the elf was too excited to really feel bad. Or maybe he was just confident in his ability to dodge.

"All right," Moody said, "what have you got for me?"

"Hermione Granger's friends have come to live with her and Severus Snape in their tent, sir!"

"Yeah, I know that," Moody said.

Dobby's ears twitched. "Hermione Granger's friends are very kind to Dobby. They are all praising him for catching the Wormface man."

Moody nodded, impatient.

"Dobby is sorry to have to speak ill of Hermione Granger's friends," the elf said sadly. "But Dobby promised to tell Auror Moody what he sees and hears, and Dobby is here to keep his promise." He leaned closer, lowering his squeaky voice. "Dobby must tell Auror Moody that Hermione Granger's friends are lying about who they are!"

"Lying?" Moody said, interested.

Dobby nodded tragically. "Hermione Granger's friends told Auror Moody their names were Harry Peverell and Ginny Peverell. But the man called Severus Prince is calling them Potter and Miss Weasley."

Moody felt a flash of real surprise. Not, perhaps, at the idea that the redheaded girl was a Weasley: anyone with eyes could have guessed that. And it had been obvious from the start that her marriage to the boy was a sham. But Potter? Why keep that a secret, if it was true? And why didn't James know about him?

"What about the older one? Severus Prince? You hear them call him any other names?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby is not hearing anyone call him anything."

That was a shame. Moody was certain (as Savage was) that this so-called Prince was not who he said he was. His resemblance to Snape was striking, and yet the idea that he also resembled Snape's Muggle father to such an extraordinary degree was ludicrous. But why lie? What were Prince and Peverell, as they styled themselves, hiding?

And why did they look so bloody much like Snape and Potter?


	40. Chapter 40

40

Harry had always wondered what kind of house he would have grown up in if his parents had lived. The Dursleys' house had been so miserable, with its abnormal cleanliness, its excess of Dudley photos, and, of course, his cupboard. Hogwarts had become a real home to him, grand and mysterious though it was. The Burrow had hinted of things he might have had, siblings and messes and traditions. But he had always known, of course, that none of these places were really home; that he might have had something else, something beyond imagining, if only Voldemort hadn't come to Godric's Hollow that night.

Now, for the first time, he thought he might be seeing a glimpse of what he actually might have had.

James and Lily were living in a cottage, not unlike the one in Godric's Hollow. The garden outside was a wilderness of wildflowers, but the stack of gardening books on the mantel suggested it might not stay that way for long. The sitting room was full of books: a few old textbooks, about a dozen volumes on the Animagus transformation, and shelf upon shelf of Defense Against the Dark Arts books. It wasn't quite as bad as the sitting room in Hermione's flat back home, but Harry could definitely tell that his dad was more studious than he had ever been.

And, judging by the two enormous empty bookcases standing against the far wall, James expected Lily to have even more books. She must have just moved there last night; a few cardboard boxes had been piled in front of the empty shelves, all labeled "Lily's Stuff," and Harry, not even really considering that he shouldn't be nosing around in his parents' belongings, went over and opened the top one.

"What are those?" Ginny asked curiously.

"Muggle books, I think," Harry said. He had never really had any opportunity to read much Muggle literature (the Dursleys had typically disapproved of literacy, considering it dangerous), but he could tell by the fact that the pictures on the covers weren't moving that they weren't magical.

" _Pride and Prejudice?_ " Ginny asked, frowning. "Sounds dull as dirt."

"Looks like it's one of her favorites," Harry replied, examining the spine, which was creased so badly the title was illegible there.

"I dunno," Ginny said. "Sort of sounds like it's about Malfoy, doesn't it?"

Harry snorted, thinking his mum wouldn't have been reading anything about such a cowardly little bastard, before remembering that his dad had been a bit of a bastard, too.

Putting the book back in the box, he turned to survey the rest of the room. It didn't look like James had been living there long; there was an empty, tentative feeling to the place that was only slightly mitigated by the obvious efforts James had made to make it more appealing. A few awkward bouquets poked out of vases positioned haphazardly around the room, while a handful of candles sat a few inches left of the center of the coffee table, which looked like it had been scorched and stained by any number of things over the years. The walls were blank except for a couple of photos Spellotaped here and there, most of them of the Marauders, a few of James and Lily. A Gryffindor banner seemed to be doubling as a blanket, half-folded, half-crumpled on an armchair in the corner. A tattered-looking cat was curled up on it, fast asleep; Harry didn't think it had moved since they got there.

He smiled at it, remembering the letter his mum had written to Sirius, the letter he had found in Grimmauld Place. This must be the cat he had almost flown into after Sirius had given him a broomstick for his birthday. He wondered if the cat had lived in the flat James and Sirius had shared before James moved here and brought it with him. He hated to think of Sirius alone; thinking of Sirius in Azkaban again opened up a miserable pit in his stomach.

And then, of course, there was Remus… He smiled at Harry from the photos on the wall, looking amazed to find himself surrounded by friends, his weary, lightly scarred face animated in a way that his older self's had never been, not while Harry knew him.

Ginny, obviously having been watching Harry, put her arm around his waist. "It wasn't your fault," she said, though in a gentler tone than she had used yesterday.

"There has to be a way for him to live," Harry said quietly. "Some way, in some world…"

The words were out before he really meant to say them. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ginny. He half-expected her to explode, and he wouldn't really have blamed her, but he refused to take the words back.

She slid her arm away from his waist, then turned him to look at her. Her expression was unusually serious. For several seconds she said nothing, just staring at him with warm, measuring eyes. Then a wistful look crossed her face.

"You really can't rest, can you?" she asked quietly.

He opened his mouth - to say what, he hadn't quite decided - yet a voice behind him (and very similar to his own) said, "What the hell are you doing here? Where's Lily?"

James, quite reasonably, had his wand out. He was wearing pajamas and his hair was as messy as Harry's had ever been. It was painful to remember that this wasn't far from what Voldemort would have seen when he broke into their cottage on Halloween.

Only James hadn't even had a wand, then.

"We needed Lily's help finding the Longbottoms," Harry said, making no move toward his own wand. "She said we could wait here while she went to the Ministry to get them."

A look of uncertainty flashed across James's face, so briefly Harry might not have caught it if the face in question hadn't looked so much like his own. "Why didn't she wake me?"

"She thought you could use the sleep," Ginny said, in a gentle enough tone that James must have realized she meant because of yesterday - because his parents and one of his best friends were dead.

James sat down, not speaking for several moments. Then he seemed to pull himself together enough to ask, "What do you need with Frank and Alice?"

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. The topic of Hermione's marriage to Snape hadn't exactly gone over well the night before. Still, not answering would probably go over even worse.

"Hermione thinks she figured out a way to trick the rings," Harry said. "But she needs to link them to another couple's rings."

James's eyebrows rocketed up. "She wants the Ministry to track the same couple with two sets of rings?"

At their nods, James asked, "But why not just use me and Lily?"

Harry couldn't help making a face at even the most oblique of references to his parents' romantic lives. Ginny looked exasperated. "Because of Snape, of course."

The expression that crossed James's face then was one that Harry was sure had never appeared on his own. James didn't look furious or disgusted at the mention of Snape, as he had last night. There was a predatory light in his eye that reminded Harry instantly of the way he and Sirius had looked at Snape that day after the O.W.L.s, when they had gone after Snape for no reason other than the offense of Snape's existence.

Harry had never told Ginny what he had seen in Snape's Pensieve, but after the meeting last night and the look on James's face now, he had a feeling she could guess.

"I'm sure Frank and Alice are busy," James said. "How long ago did Lily leave? I bet we could catch her."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. Harry said hastily, "I'm sure she's already at the Ministry."

"Pity," James said, slumping back.

"I doubt Lily would think so," Ginny snapped.

James looked at her in surprise, then sneered. "I forgot. You're friends with Snivellus, aren't you?"

"So was Lily," Harry said quietly.

James shot him a nasty look. "Her mistake."

"Was it, though?" Harry asked. "He's come through for her, hasn't he?"

"And I haven't?" James flared.

"It's not a competition."

James snorted. "As if Snape wouldn't have done anything to keep her to himself."

"If that were true," Ginny said, "he would have married her."

James scowled, but obviously couldn't think of an immediate response to that. He reminded Harry suddenly of himself, of the way he and Ron used to search for every possible clue that Snape was evil, no matter how nonsensical, while Hermione would sit there calmly shooting them down.

And Harry suspected, too, that it was easier for James to think about how much he hated Snape than about the people who had died yesterday. Harry had done the same thing after Sirius had died, after all.

But there was, of course, a difference. Snape had treated Harry like dirt all throughout his years at Hogwarts. But here, it was James who had treated Snape like dirt - or worse. As far as Harry knew, Snape had never done anything to James that James hadn't deserved.

Sirius had said James had gotten better by the time Lily started dating him, but Harry wasn't sure, now, that he believed it.

"I'd be careful of him, if I were you," James said suddenly. "Lily thought he was her friend, too, and he called her a 'Mudblood.' Does that sound like something a friend would do?"

Harry looked him straight in the eye. "A friend who was dangling upside down in his underwear, bleeding and choking on soap?"

Ginny made a startled movement, but Harry didn't look away from James to see her reaction. James, for his part, looked surprised. "He told you about that?"

"I heard about it," Harry lied. "People say things they don't mean when they're hurt," he added, thinking of Ron, who had called him a liar after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire; Ron, who had abandoned him in the middle of the war.

James's lip curled. "You think he didn't mean it?"

"No," Harry said, "I think he was trying to hurt her feelings, because he knew she liked you, even then."

James flushed in triumph, but said, "That doesn't justify it."

"I didn't say it did," Harry replied. "But me? I would have forgiven him for what he said sooner than I would have forgiven you for what you did."

James's flush deepened, and this time Harry thought (and hoped) it was in shame. The idea that his dad could be totally without remorse for what he had done disturbed Harry more than he could say.

"Guess it's a good thing Lily's not like you, then," James said, recovering.

Sadness swept through Harry, followed by a cold weariness. "No," he agreed. "I'm not like either of you."

Something flickered in James's eyes, puzzlement, perhaps. Harry wasn't surprised. He could well imagine how strange it would be to have someone who looked so much like himself talk to him in such a disappointed tone. Even if James really believed Harry was a distant cousin, there must be a part of him that was impacted by what Harry had said… At least Harry hoped there was.

Obviously trying to shake it off, James said, in a much more winning tone, "Do either of you know how to cook?"

Harry stared at him, painfully reminded of Ron. Pureblood boys really needed to be offered some kind of cooking class. "You can't cook?"

James shrugged. "Until two days ago, I lived in a flat above a sandwich shop."

"What have you eaten in the past two days?"

James shrugged again. "The wedding hors d'oeuvres?"

Harry snorted. "All right, James. I'll teach you how to cook."

"I don't really need to learn," James said. "Lily -"

"- is going to slap you so hard your head spins around if you tell her she has to cook for you all the time," Ginny said, glaring at him.

James frowned, his tone sinking. "My mum always cooked for my dad."

"So does mine," Ginny said. "Different generation, James. Different rules."

"And Lily is Muggleborn," Harry added.

"Way different rules," Ginny agreed.

James gave them a doubtful look, but went into the kitchen willingly enough. Harry found a frying pan, then looked around in confusion. "Where's the refrigerator?"

"The what?" Ginny and James asked.

"The - where you keep things cool?" He realized, now that he thought about it, that neither the Burrow nor Grimmauld Place had refrigerators. But he had never been responsible for cooking at either place, so he had never noticed it.

"Cooling cupboard, Harry," Ginny said, flashing him a fond look.

After that, they got to work. It looked like James had at least managed to stock the kitchen, even if he hadn't been expecting to use it himself. There were eggs, bread, sausage, bacon, and even some fresh mushrooms. Ginny was just starting to say that he wasn't hopeless after all when she realized there was no salt or pepper. The lecture that followed brought Mrs. Weasley so strongly to mind that Harry almost flinched.

"You sound like my mum," James muttered.

It was the second time he had mentioned his mother. Harry glanced at Ginny, but she had never lost her mum. How could she know what to say? Not that he did.

"What was she like?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Like that," James said, gesturing to Ginny. "She liked to get things right, to keep things perfect. She usually did, too. We were always impressed by her. My dad and me, I mean." He laughed shortly. "And Sirius, too, I guess. His mum's a nightmare."

Harry winced, thinking of the portrait. "Sirius stayed with you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, he ran away from home. Can't blame him. His family's a bunch of Death Eaters and pureblood maniacs."

"What did your parents think of all this? The war?"

"They were on our side, of course," James said, a little sharply. "They weren't fighters themselves, but - but they said they were proud -"

He broke off, looking away from them and focusing on the sausages Harry had put him in charge of.

"'Course they were," Harry said quietly. "D'you know how many thousands of wizards are just hiding away, doing nothing?"

James nodded, his back still turned.

For a few minutes, they cooked mostly in silence, speaking only to give James instructions or to pass each other ingredients. Harry had only ever cooked the Muggle way, but Ginny knew cooking spells and, much more quickly than Harry would have expected, they had a decent breakfast on the table.

He and Ginny had already eaten, of course, but it felt sort of sad to let his dad eat alone, so Harry sat down with him. Ginny, Weasley that she was, didn't seem to have any trouble downing a second breakfast, although she ate with more decorum than any of her brothers had ever shown.

"This is good," James said.

"Be better with salt," Ginny muttered.

James cracked a small smile. "Yeah, yeah."

The front door opened, and Lily, Frank, and Alice poured in, bringing with them an intense blast of cold. Their noses were bright pink.

Lily gave the half-eaten breakfast a surprised look, glancing from James to Harry and Ginny.

"Come sit, Lily," James said, with the same uncertain look Harry had seen earlier.

Lily looked uncertain, too. It was hard to tell with her cheeks so pink from the cold, but Harry thought she might have been blushing.

Ginny cleared her throat at him, and they both sprang up.

"We'll just take Frank and Alice," Ginny said. "You two… er… have fun."

Harry shot her a horrified look, and she turned her head so no one else could see before winking at him.

"Oh!" Lily said, surprised. "You don't want us to come with you?"

"Er… that's okay," Harry said. He didn't think he could stand another minute of the nervous, post-wedding night looks they were giving each other. "We'll let you know how it all turns out."

He and Ginny grabbed their coats and hurried out, Frank and Alice in tow.

"Never thought I'd meet anyone more awkward than Snape," Alice said, looking at Harry the way the Weasley twins used to look at potential (and usually unwitting) test subjects.

"I'm working on it," Ginny said, with a fake sigh, and a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry muttered, as Alice laughed.

"Where are Snape and Granger?" Frank asked, not smiling.

"Hermione has a tent," Harry said. "We'll Apparate you there."

If Frank or Alice had any doubts about allowing two almost-strangers to Apparate them to an unknown location, they hid it well. Alice, indeed, was bouncing a little on her feet, though whether in excitement at the prospect of thwarting the marriage law or just because she was cold, Harry wasn't sure.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, glancing between them.

Alice snorted. "We're not afraid of having sex, Peverell."

Harry forced himself not to make a face. "The Ministry could find out."

"Oh, no!" Alice cried. "Frank - the Ministry! How could we forget?"

"And we only just left there," Frank said, shaking his head.

"Right," Harry said. "I just wanted to give you a chance to back out before Hermione gets to you."

"There's no backing out of Hermione's plans," Ginny explained.

"Assuming it works," Alice said.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. "That's usually a pretty safe assumption."

* * *

"It's going to work," Hermione said, a little shrilly. "I don't believe it! It's going to work!"

Severus gave her an affectionate, exasperated, still a little awed look. "Of course it works. We've known it would for hours."

Hermione clutched her hair. "Are we sure? Have we checked -"

"We have checked everything, Miss Granger," Severus's older self said (not for the first time). "The spell will work."

"But -"

"No buts."

"- what if -"

"Those are also unnecessary."

"- we don't know -"

"We _know,_ Hermione," Severus said. "We know."

She was jittery with anxiety. Severus might have been a little concerned about her complete loss of composure if his older self hadn't remarked that she got this way about exams, too.

Naturally, Severus was nervous as well. Only a fool wouldn't have been. They were tampering with incredibly powerful magic, magic that could land them in Azkaban if they miscast it. It was dangerous, a real risk, and yet the alternatives were in no way acceptable.

And Severus did genuinely believe that the spell they had created would work.

The fact that it had taken Hermione only a few hours to devise a solution astounded him. The solution was not ideal, by any means: relying on another couple to keep them out of Azkaban, hoping the Ministry would not notice their _copulations_ always coincided… Even if the spell worked, things could go drastically wrong. Severus was not surprised Dumbledore hadn't thought of it. The longer _he_ thought about it, the more risks he could identify (what if the Longbottoms got pregnant? Hermione would be required to report to St. Mungo's, and then what?), and the chance that everything would fall apart within a matter of weeks was enormously high.

But the spell itself… Severus could not help feeling that it was a thing of beauty.

It had taken all of them to make it. He and his older self were both inventive, with Severus himself probably the more creative of the two, less confined by experience and knowledge in his ideas, more open to seemingly impossible avenues. Yet his older self was far from limited. His command of Latin was infinitely superior to Severus's own, not unimpressive knowledge. His grasp of curse structures and the careful navigation required to manipulate Dark magic without sparking its retaliation was enviable in the extreme. And Hermione… Hermione, when not panicking, was so matter-of-fact in her confidence and skill that she had linked the required components each Severus had identified before either of them had the chance to even question whether it could be done.

The spell was a work of art. It was darkness and manipulation and subtlety all woven together in a thread that would entangle their rings with the Longbottoms' so perfectly and so undetectably that it would likely take Rookwood himself to even figure out what they had done. And as Rookwood was currently rotting in Azkaban, they were almost certainly in the clear.

Of course, unlike the spells Severus had created at school, he would have no opportunity to test this one on worthless bullies. If it went wrong, it was highly improbable there would be a second chance.

But he could hold the spell in his mind in all its coiled, precise perfection, and he did not doubt that it would work.

It was only the aftermath he feared.

They had accepted the risks, though. Even if everything fell apart and they were dragged off to Azkaban, the older Severus had promised to break them out. Severus would have been hesitant to accept anyone else's assurances, but his own? No matter how much contempt he felt for the choices his older self had made, there was no denying his alternate self had grown into a capable, hardened, slightly terrifying wizard, and Severus found it easy to understand Hermione's utter faith in him. Whatever his emotional or moral shortcomings had been, the intensity of his resolve could not be questioned.

Severus felt a deep, unsettled thrill at the knowledge that all this dark, determined power could one day emerge from himself.

Several cracks of Apparation sounded outside the tent, and Harry's voice called, "It's us!"

A moment later, Harry, Ginny, and the Longbottoms ducked into the tent, the latter two looking around in quick, Auror-like curiosity before their gazes settled on the three figures at the table.

"You two really do look so much alike," Alice said, glancing between the two Severuses. "Even more than him and James." She jerked her thumb at Harry.

"Did you find a way?" Frank asked.

"We think so," Hermione said, in a high, uncertain voice.

"We did," the older Severus said decisively. "Do you understand what is required of you?"

Alice shrugged. "The same thing that's required now. Lots of sex."

Severus could tell that his older self had no more appreciated that response than he had, for all that his expression remained, for the most part, impassive.

"You will be placing yourselves in dang-"

"Yeah, yeah, Peverell already gave us the speech," Alice said. "Look, we're Aurors, right? Or we will be in a week or so. If anyone starts to get suspicious, we'll know."

"Umbridge is the one we need to worry about," Harry said.

"Umbridge?" Alice asked, in some surprise. "But she's just an ugly old -"

"She's a monster," Ginny said fiercely. Hermione and Harry both nodded.

The older Severus said, "She is exceedingly dangerous. Do not underestimate her. It is likely she helped Rookwood design the rings, and she will almost certainly be monitoring them. Whether she is actively allied with the Dark Lord at this juncture is unclear, but if she is not now, she will be."

"Maybe we should arrest her," Alice said. "She was married to a convicted Death Eater…"

"Crouch interrogated her," Frank said. "And he suspected nothing."

"'Course not," Harry said. "He's just as much a fanatic about the marriage law as she is."

"Though for different reasons, I suspect," the older Severus said. "Crouch is an obsessive adherent of the law. Umbridge has proven herself entirely willing to break the law if it suits her. Her interest in this matter is no doubt largely sadistic."

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all nodded, hatred in their eyes. Severus saw Frank and Alice glance at each other in surprise.

"How do you know -"

"Now is not the time," the older Severus interrupted. "We are prepared to cast the spell, if you are ready. You will have until roughly three o'clock to meet the consummation requirements."

They all glanced at the clock. It was not yet eleven. Alice shrugged. "No problem."

"The four of you sit," Severus's older self commanded.

Severus and Hermione sat beside each other, Alice and Frank across from them, while Harry, Ginny, and Fiend circled around to watch. Severus's older self gave them a look that stated plainly they were not to come any closer, make any sound, or disturb him in any way. Severus could only imagine he had learned to glare like that when he had been a teacher.

And they all obeyed, even Fiend.

"Place your left hands in the center of the table."

Severus and Frank sat across from each other, while Hermione was across from Alice. Their rings glinted unpleasantly as they all extended their hands. Severus saw the interest in Frank's otherwise inscrutable expression as Severus's older self swept his wand across their rings, double-checking that the enchantments binding Frank and Alice were the same as those binding Severus and Hermione. They had designed the spell on the assumption that the enchantments were identical, but it would have been the height of foolishness not to check.

Severus could see, even at a quick glance, that they were.

"This will take roughly three minutes," his older self said. "Do not move."

His hands were all grace, the incantation little more than a murmur beneath his breath, rising and falling in a circular fashion as he flicked his wand from ring to ring to ring, its tip looping in and out, in and out, weaving links into a curse only he, in that moment, could see. Severus felt the moment his ring began to link to Frank's, felt a sudden foreign surge of heat, as if his ring had been wrapped around a finger warmer than his own. It was peculiar, and uncomfortable; Severus could not suppress a sudden surge of revulsion for the rings and their hideous magic. He could see Hermione's hand trembling slightly, while Alice's thumb twitched. Even Frank looked like he was resisting the urge to yank his hand away.

Then the incantation stopped, the links settled, and Severus felt some of the heat in his ring dissipate, though it didn't wholly abate. His older self straightened. "It is done."


	41. Chapter 41

41

Regulus woke with a sharp gasp of pain as the Dark Mark on his arm flared. Whether his heartbeat had been quickened by the Dark Lord's summons or whether it had already been racing in his sleep, he couldn't tell, but he felt shivery with nerves as he slipped out of bed and into his Death Eater robes and cloak.

He knew the purpose of this summons. He had seen the headlines in the _Daily Prophet_ that morning, had read the list of dead. Nearly every Death Eater remaining to the Dark Lord had been killed at the Potters' wedding. His giants had been killed or captured. And his plans to kill the Potters had collapsed in ruin; a photograph of Lily and James, bloodstained but still very much alive, had stained the cover of the _Prophet,_ along with the headline, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Suffers Crippling Defeat at Potters' Wedding."

Even worse, Severus Snape's name was not listed among the dead.

Hogwarts had been in mourning all that day. Professor Flitwick's death had left most of the students, even the boys, in tears, and though Regulus knew he shouldn't question his lord, he couldn't help feeling that the attack on the church had been a mistake. He couldn't imagine how it had gone so wrong: the _Daily Prophet_ had been frustratingly vague in its description of events, focusing more on the dead than on the fight itself. While his classmates had grieved for their beloved Charms professor, Regulus had sat in silence, agonizing over the possibilities.

Had they been betrayed? Had they truly been defeated? Was their cause lost, less than a year after Regulus had been honored with the Dark Mark? Had Dumbledore won?

The burning on his left arm was a defiant refutation of his last fear. No, Dumbledore had not won. Not yet. There was still hope that the Dark Lord would triumph against the Ministry and its oppressive policies, against Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving propaganda. There was still hope.

His housemates didn't stir as he crept out of the Slytherin dorms, prefect badge at the ready in case a teacher was nosing around. He followed the stone steps not up toward the entrance hall, but down, deeper into the dungeons, until he came to a hidden door. With a quick glance behind him to make sure no ghosts were watching, he slid the bolt aside with a faint scraping noise, then slipped through the door and into the steeply descending stone corridor beyond.

A minute later, he had emerged from beneath the castle, hidden behind the curtain of ivy that concealed the fleet of boats the first years always took across the lake. Without hesitation, he climbed into one of the boats, tapped it with his wand, and sat back as it slid silently through the ivy and across the black water beneath the icy stars.

His arm was still burning fiercely when the boat scraped against the opposite shore. He climbed out quickly, casting a Notice-Me-Not Charm around the boat and trying not to remember that Flitwick had taught him the spell. With another wary look around, he strode across the frost-hardened ground toward the place where the Apparation wards ended. His lord was impatient; he could feel the fury radiating into his arm, nearly making him cry out with pain. Though his lord knew Regulus would need time to escape the castle undetected, his rage was clearly so great it could not be contained.

Regulus did not want to admit it to himself, but he was afraid of the reception he would receive. The Dark Lord was not kind when angered, not even to those who served him well.

Regulus thought he understood. The Dark Lord's ambitions were great, greater by far than those of any lesser wizard. His disappointment was therefore proportionally greater, as well.

And how great must his disappointment be now, knowing how much he had lost, knowing how close he had come to total defeat?

Regulus clenched his fist against the pain in his arm, telling himself he was willing to bear it, that he would gladly allow his lord to release some of his pent up frustration into him.

He pretended not to hear the Snape-like voice inside him that whispered, _"He is a selfish, arrogant, hideous monster…"_

Snape. Regulus hated him for the things he had said, hated him for the remembered insults that spiked through his mind at the most inopportune moments. They were like poison, eating away at him. Regulus would have been relieved to hear that Snape was dead, if only to know that his shocking disloyalty did in fact have its consequence.

Perhaps then these appalling thoughts would end.

He felt the Apparation wards fall away around him, and took a deep breath, deliberately burying any thought of Snape or his blasphemous vitriol. Gripping his wand, he Disapparated.

Voldemort was no longer staying in the Rosier home. Now that all of his Death Eaters but Regulus had been identified, it was unsafe to retreat anywhere associated with any of them. Instead, the Dark Lord had erected a makeshift camp high in the Welsh mountains, surrounded by snow and a bank of mist that did not feel entirely natural.

Of course, "camp" was not an entirely accurate term. There were no tents, no fires. Regulus saw at once that the Dark Lord had carved a shelter into the mountain itself, twisting the very fabric of the earth to his uses. Rock jutted out in dark, ice-slickened masses of fury, a black maw gaping behind them. To anyone but a Death Eater, the mountainside would appear exactly as it had always appeared, but to Regulus, it looked as though the mountain had come alive and realized it was hungry.

Dropping his prefect badge into a pocket, he pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, involuntarily shrinking from the chill of mountain air and the fear of what was coming. The path ahead of him was clear, and terrifying; it could not have been more obvious that the Dark Lord had cut the mountain apart with lash after lash of magical fury, and Regulus heard the crunching shards of rock beneath his feet with a disturbing recollection of what it had sounded like when the Dark Lord had broken Wilkes's arm in punishment for some failure. Regulus knew he had done nothing to deserve the Dark Lord's fury, but the burning in his arm was a potent reminder that his loyalty might not protect him now.

As the jaws of the mountain closed around him, he sensed rather than saw movement ahead. A pale purple light appeared, and there was his cousin, Bellatrix.

"Regulus," she said quietly. "I am glad you have not forsaken us."

There was a sharp threat in her tone, a warning that to ever do so would mean agony and death. But there was no need for her threats: Regulus was loyal, no matter what it might cost him.

There was something in Bellatrix's words that made him ask, "Have others forsaken us?"

Her lip curled. "Perhaps. Come. The Dark Lord is within."

Regulus followed her and her pale light into a dark, freezing tunnel. She moved slowly, stiffly, and he realized she must have been injured in the fight. But of course she would never say so. Bella was a powerful witch, and had never longed for anyone's pity.

When they reached the end of the tunnel and entered the cavern where the Dark Lord had carved out his sleeping chambers, it was all Regulus could do not to gasp. The Dark Lord sat, bent and weary, his face burned and cut, his eyes blinking in evident pain at even Bella's faint light.

"My lord," Regulus said, in a hushed voice.

"Regulus," the Dark Lord said, and the pain in Regulus's arm disappeared immediately. "Come to me, my loyal servant."

Regulus rose, approached the stone where his lord was sitting, and knelt beside him again. He felt no pity, but concern swelled within him, all the more powerful, perhaps, for his relief in the sudden absence of pain in his Mark. His lord was badly injured. His eyes, though obviously not blind, were damaged, and streaks of vein-like burns webbed out from his eyes across his face. Small cuts had torn through the pale flesh of his face, particularly around his eyes, and Regulus thought he saw a glimmer of glass fragments embedded in the skin.

Regulus wondered why the Dark Lord had not healed himself, but didn't dare ask.

"You see," Voldemort said quietly. "You see what I have become. You see what has been done to me. What I was unable to prevent."

There was danger in every syllable, and Regulus held his breath.

"Do you think me weak, Regulus?"

"Never, my lord," Regulus answered honestly.

"And yet I am weak," the Dark Lord replied. "I have been weakened. My loyal Death Eaters are dead or in Azkaban. Those who are disloyal…" A terrifying shiver crept across the air, as if the night itself had recoiled from his fury. "Barty Crouch has not answered my summons."

"My lord, Barty Crouch was taken from school -"

"I know this," Voldemort hissed. "I know that his father suspects. But why does Crouch not come to me? Why has he not escaped his father and joined me?"

Regulus hesitated. "Barty's father is a powerful wizard, my lord. It may be that Barty cannot escape."

Voldemort considered that, his red eyes squinting out of his bloodied face. "You believe Crouch has been prevented from joining me? You believe he is still loyal?"

"I cannot speak for him, my lord," Regulus said. "But he despises his father, and he believes in your cause. I believe he would join you, if he could."

"So," Voldemort said, looking away from Regulus to where Bellatrix stood, at a distance, with her small purple light. "So. Bartemius Crouch is keeping his son from me, as he has kept so many others of my loyal followers. He will pay. And my servants… my loyal servants… I will liberate them."

"My lord," Bellatrix whispered. "Please, allow me to kill him for you. Allow me to kill Crouch. Allow me to kill all your enemies."

"All?" Voldemort looked at her. "You did not kill my enemies in Godric's Hollow, Bellatrix."

Bella flinched. "My lord, I killed many -"

"And yet, Potter and his Mudblood slut still live. Severus Snape still lives."

"My lord, there was another - a relative of Snape, I am certain of it - he prevented me - he was powerful -"

"A relative of Snape?" Voldemort's brow creased, his red eyes glinting. "Snape has no family. Lucius was certain of that."

"Then Lucius was mistaken," Bella said fiercely. "The wizard I dueled was like Snape in every way, but stronger, older, more skilled. It was he who killed your giant, not once but twice. If it had not been for him -"

"I do not want your excuses, Bellatrix."

"My lord!" Bella fell to her knees. "I beg your forgiveness! I should have found a way to kill the Potters, I should have -"

"Enough."

Bellatrix fell silent at once.

"The fault is not entirely yours," the Dark Lord said. "I, too, failed to kill the Potters. I underestimated them… I believed Wormtail's assurances that Dumbledore would not be present. And I believed that few of the Potters' guests would be willing to kill. But I was mistaken, gravely mistaken… My Death Eaters fell. All but one. All but you, Bellatrix. For that, I will forgive you…"

"Thank you, my lord," Bellatrix gasped.

"And I will grant you your request. You will kill Bartemius Crouch. You will find his son and bring him to me."

"My lord." Bellatrix crept forward, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "Thank you."

"Go. Do not return until you have the boy."

Bella bowed, rose, and swept from the cave, carrying her light with her.

Blackness swelled within the cavern, and Regulus resisted the urge to light his wand. He did not want to harm his lord's eyes, and suspected that kindling a light without permission would result in immediate punishment. For several seconds, the Dark Lord allowed the darkness to prevail. Then he lit his own wand, mimicking the soft purple glow Bellatrix had conjured.

"This is all I can bear, at present," he said quietly. "This small light… It is fitting, perhaps, that I am more comfortable in the darkness than in the light, now."

"My lord…" Regulus hesitated. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You believe you can accomplish what I cannot?"

"I could steal supplies from the Hogwarts hospital wing, my lord. Potions, salves…"

The Dark Lord regarded him for a moment, then offered him a small smile. "You are loyal, Regulus. You will be rewarded… Perhaps beyond any of them, if you continue to serve me well. No. Potions will not aid me. Dumbledore used my own magic against me. A weaker wizard than I would have been killed, but I survived, and I will recover… in time."

Regulus nodded. He did not doubt it would take more than the potions in the Hogwarts stores to counteract the Dark Lord's own magic.

The Dark Lord stood and paced slowly away, his faint wandlight flickering across the jagged cavern walls. "Wizarding Britain is celebrating my defeat," he said quietly. "They toast the Potters. They award the chattel I slaughtered with honors and accolades. Perhaps," he added, in an even quieter tone, "perhaps they even dare to laugh at me."

Regulus shivered, remembering Severus Snape and his insults.

"Do you believe we have been defeated, Regulus?"

"No, my lord." When he saw that his lord required more, he continued, "We suffered a defeat, it is true. But your cause is as needed now as it was two days ago. We cannot surrender to those who would oppress us."

The Dark Lord smiled. "No. We cannot."

"Your servants in Azkaban -"

"- will be freed," Voldemort said. "The Dementors will join us. And I will raise a new army, a stronger army. My enemies will regret opposing me."

He stepped closer to where Regulus knelt. "But I have another task for you, Regulus. Will you serve me?"

"Of course, my lord."

"You have a house-elf, I believe?"

Regulus tried to hide his puzzlement. "My family owns a house-elf, my lord. He will obey my orders."

"Good. I will have need of him."

Regulus fought back his surprise, mingled with a tinge of guilt. Kreacher was a loyal family servant, and Regulus cared for him. The idea of handing him over to the Dark Lord was…

 _Right,_ he told himself. _It is right. I serve the Dark Lord._ "Shall I summon him, my lord?"

"Not yet," the Dark Lord said. "When the time comes, I will tell you."

Regulus bowed his head. "Anything you wish, my lord."

* * *

The Order had located a better meeting place than Arabella Figg's dining room. Not that Hermione had really been paying attention to her surroundings when she had been there; the entire night had been a blur of stress, between the battle and the rings and seeing Harry, Ginny, and Snape again. But she had a lingering impression of a general lack of cleanliness, and a dozen half-Kneazles who had reminded her painfully of Crookshanks.

The Potters' cottage was much nicer. It was obvious they hadn't had time to fully unpack, but there were a number of interesting-looking books on the shelves, some well-worn and comfortable chairs and sofas, and a tattered cat that steadfastly refused to surrender its chair to anyone.

There was an excited murmuring when Hermione entered the room, and she had to resist the urge to hide behind Snape, who was beside her. Dumbledore, seated in a squashy purple chair that he had obviously conjured himself, beamed at her.

"Let's see it, Granger," Moody said, ushering her more fully into the room.

There were several people there who hadn't been at the last meeting, and Hermione didn't recognize any of them. They were all watching her with a rather alarming air of expectation. Moody didn't bother with introductions. He pulled Hermione's arm out so her ring was exposed to the room, cast a few revelatory spells on it, and filled the room with a startling diagram of lights and webbing that glowed like a hologram.

"Brilliant," Dumbledore said.

Several people gave him surprised and slightly nervous looks, as if wondering how he would take to being outshone by a nineteen-year-old. If Dumbledore felt in any way threatened, he didn't show it.

"What exactly are we seeing?" Arthur Weasley asked.

Hermione glanced at Snape, but he gestured for her to proceed, so she took a deep breath and, in a rush, explained what they had done.

"Brilliant," a few other people said, McGonagall among them.

"It could still go wrong," Hermione said nervously, as Moody flicked his wand and the glowing curse structures faded. "If the Longbottoms get pregnant, or someone at the Ministry notices that the times always coincide -"

"I sincerely doubt anyone at the Ministry is monitoring _that_ closely," Arthur said.

"Umbridge might be," Ginny muttered.

"Who exactly _is_ Umbridge?" someone asked. "I've heard the name, but -"

"She's evil," Ginny said.

"Completely evil," Harry agreed.

"She's a sadistic toad," Hermione said. "She's part of all of this, she's probably one of the reasons the law got passed in the first place. We think she and Rookwood made the rings together."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this, some of it clearly outraged.

"If we know who's responsible, can't we do something? Go to the Wizengamot? Get the law repealed?"

"I am afraid," Dumbledore said quietly, "that, though I raised my suspicions with the Minister, he felt they were not sufficient to warrant a repeal of the law. He is convinced that magical propagation is still in the best interest of the Wizarding world."

"Of course it is!" a woman said angrily. "But on our own time!"

"Does he know about what it does to Squibs?" Harry asked, looking at Dumbledore.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I was able to discern that particular purpose among the rings' curses when I first examined them. I raised my concerns with the Wizengamot, naturally, but they were considered invalid."

"How?" Ginny asked. "How could they not care that it's killing babies?"

"Technically," Dumbledore said, "the curse does not kill fetuses. It prevents fertilization if magic is not present in both the egg and sperm by dissolving both instantly."

"It's still disgusting," Ginny said.

"I quite agree. However -"

"What if we could tell people?" Harry asked suddenly.

Everyone looked at him.

"Not just about that," Harry said. "About everything - Rookwood, Umbridge - what if everyone knew?"

"What do you mean, 'everyone'?"

Harry waved his arms. "The public."

"And how are you going to -"

Hermione gasped. "Rita Skeeter!"

Several people looked puzzled, but Harry nodded. "That's what I was thinking. I dunno if she's an Animagus yet -"

"It doesn't matter," Ginny said, catching on. "Can you imagine? A scoop like this? We wouldn't even have to blackmail her."

"Who is Rita Skeeter?" Lily asked.

"A complete cow of a reporter," Ginny said. "She's perfect."

"You want her to write an article?" one of the Prewetts asked, frowning. "Bit of a gossip, isn't she?"

"That's exactly what we need," Hermione said. "The Ministry's had the _Prophet_ writing all these fluff pieces about the marriage law, I'm sure Rita's simply _dying_ to work another angle."

"Don't you despise this woman?" Severus asked, probably remembering her list of people to deal with.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, waving this aside. "But we can use her."

"But who can we get her to interview?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip, but Ginny said, "Isn't it obvious?" She suddenly mimicked Rita Skeeter's awful voice. " _An exclusive interview with Lily Potter, nee Lily Evans, the stunningly beautiful, tragic victim of both the marriage law and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -_ "

"You want Lily to give an interview?" James asked, frowning.

Lily looked uncertain. "What would I have to say?"

"I'll come with you," Ginny said. "I'll be your gossipy friend, who wishes to remain anonymous."

Harry snorted. "Don't forget to give her lots of juicy details about Umbridge."

Ginny grinned dangerously. "Don't worry. She won't know what hit her. Neither of them will."

"This'll make Rita's career," Harry said, a little bitterly.

"If it ends the marriage law, so be it," Hermione said. "But in the meantime, there must be so many people who need a way out, like we did -"

"We've already started a list," Lily said, blushing a little as all eyes turned to her. "James and I know of several people who would be good candidates -"

"Me, for one," one of the Prewetts said darkly.

"And we're, er, willing to be linked to other couples, if that's something they want." Lily was bright red by the end of this, and even James looked a little pink.

Hermione chanced a glance at Severus, but he wasn't looking at the Potters.

"Can the rings be linked to more than one couple?" Moody asked.

"I think so," Hermione said.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, apparently having already thought this far ahead in the minutes since Hermione's explanation. "The spells can be modified to add an indefinite number of couples."

"We'll have to vet them," Moody said. "Make sure none of them will go tattling to the Ministry -"

"I doubt they will," Arthur said. "This law has been miserable for hundreds, if not thousands of people. I think they'll be nothing but grateful for the chance at an escape."

"We'll see," Moody growled.

"I think we can begin with Lily's list," Dumbledore said. "Anyone here who would like to add names to it, please do so before you leave tonight. I will begin contacting the couples immediately."

"What about those coins we talked about?" Alice asked. "For the volunteers?"

"I've already started working on the spells," Hermione said. "It might take a day or two… But how many will we need?"

"A hundred?" Harry suggested.

"A hundred?" Moody growled. "You trust a hundred people, Potter? Sorry…" He gave Harry a pointed look. "Peverell."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "You can just call me Harry. And no, of course I don't trust a hundred people, but one or two dozen isn't going to be enough, not if we want them keeping an eye out all over the country. Hermione's making a contract so we know who's loyal, aren't you, Hermione?"

"Yes, if anyone betrays us, voluntarily or otherwise, we'll know."

Moody scowled. "Still seems like a hell of a lot of people."

Harry shrugged, his expression hard. "Trying to do everything by ourselves is going to get people killed."

There was a sharp silence. The deaths from the day before still felt very near.

"He's right," James said. "We're taking precautions, that'll have to be enough. We can't let what happened in Godric's Hollow happen again, not to anyone."

"Do we think it will?" Arthur asked. "Do we know about any other targets? Aside from Azkaban…"

"Azkaban is likely to be Lord Voldemort's next target," Dumbledore said. "But it is possible he will launch other attacks before them. His forces are depleted, and after yesterday, it is clear that he is willing to replenish them in any way necessary."

"You think he'll try to raise another army of Inferi?" Alice asked, mouth twisted.

"I think it is very likely. We still have not determined to what use he put the corpses he raised from Grizedale Forest -"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it, evidently deciding to say nothing, but Dumbledore caught the sudden movement and met Harry's eyes. Something passed between them, something Hermione recognized well from the time when the Dumbledore of her world had been alive, and so close to Harry. Dumbledore nodded.

"I think it is likely," Dumbledore continued, turning away from Harry, "that Voldemort will try to supplement the few forces remaining to him in any way possible. The Aurors have posted a guard around Azkaban, and will inform us of any attempts by Voldemort or any other witch or wizard to make contact with the Dementors. In the meantime, we must remain vigilant. I think it would be prudent to begin compiling a list of those who might be willing to volunteer as sentries for the Auror Division so that Miss Granger's coins can be distributed as soon as possible once she has completed them."

There was some nodding.

"Lastly," Dumbledore said. "I must congratulate Frank and Alice Longbottom, who will be completing their Auror training one week from today. Their training has been woefully accelerated, but I am certain they are capable of handling the responsibility they have been entrusted with. Congratulations."

There was some clapping, but mostly people looked worried. Hermione heard someone whisper, "But they're so young!"

Alice obviously caught it, and looked ready to respond, but Frank shook his head at her. And after all, Hermione thought, what was there to say? Either Frank and Alice would survive the coming war, or they wouldn't.

"All right," Moody said. "Speaking of training - you two should get some sleep. You'll need it. I want you at the Ministry at the crack of dawn."

Alice winced. Even Frank looked a little pale.

"If there is nothing else," Dumbledore said, with a piercing glance around the room, "then this meeting is adjourned. Lily, if you would leave your list of couples on the kitchen table, perhaps everyone can add to it as they leave…"

For several minutes, the Order members shuffled out of the room, exchanging news or condolences, most of them stopping to scratch out several names on Lily's parchment before heading out the door. Hermione, Harry, Ginny, both Severus Snapes, and Moody stayed in the sitting room, watching James and Lily accept everyone's sympathies and congratulations while Dumbledore smiled benignly until the last of the others had shut the front door behind them.

Dumbledore glanced at James and Lily as if contemplating asking them for privacy, but Harry started speaking before he could.

"We know what he's using the Inferi for," he said.

"Do you?" Moody said, peering from one to the other of the (unbeknownst to him) otherworlders. "And how's that, Potter?"

"Peverell," Hermione corrected immediately.

"My mistake," Moody said, with a glint in his eye Hermione didn't quite like. "Peverell."

Harry frowned, then glanced at Hermione, as though making sure she still thought this was a good idea. But they had decided earlier: they would not make the same mistake Dumbledore had, keeping the burden of the Horcruxes on the shoulders of so few.

"Voldemort has Horcruxes," Harry said, his shoulders twitching as if he was bracing himself.

Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed. Moody looked alarmed. "Horcruxes? As in more than one?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "At this point we think he's made five."

"I'm sorry," Lily said, with a nervous glance at Moody's horrified expression. "What are Horcruxes?"

"A Horcrux is an object that contains a piece of a wizard's soul," Hermione said. "With a piece of the soul bound to a physical object, it's impossible for the rest of the wizard's soul to move on if the wizard's body is destroyed."

"In other words," Harry said, "Voldemort can't die."

Lily and James stared at them in horror.

"But we know what the Horcruxes are," Harry said hastily. "Hermione and Severus have already destroyed two of them. We think we know where the other three are, or at least where they will be."

"How do you know this?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. "Er… does it matter?"

Dumbledore and Moody both arched their brows. Harry gave them a determined glare. "We're on the same side," he said. "Can't you just, I don't know, believe us?"

"I do believe you," Dumbledore said quietly. "I am merely curious how you were able to discover Lord Voldemort's deepest secrets."

Harry shrugged. "We had help."

"Did you?" Mood asked, his gaze trailing across the five of them, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Snape, and Severus. They all stared back, stone-faced.

"I think Harry's right," Lily said suddenly. "It doesn't matter. We just need to do what has to be done, don't we?"

Dumbledore still looked reluctant, but finally said, "Very well. Which Horcruxes have you destroyed, and which still remain? I am aware, of course, that you destroyed the diary." He gave Hermione a twinkling smile.

"We destroyed the diary and the diadem of Ravenclaw," she said, slightly flustered. "The other three are a ring, a locket that belonged to Slytherin, and a cup that belonged to Hufflepuff."

"But nothing from Gryffindor?" James asked.

"No, he never got anything of Gryffindor's," Harry said. "The sword is the only thing of his we know about, and Riddle never touched it."

"The ring is probably the easiest to get," Hermione said. "But it's cursed." She looked at Snape.

"I will retrieve and destroy the ring," he confirmed. "I am familiar with the curse. I can remove it."

"I'll go with you," Severus said suddenly.

Snape looked at him. Severus shrugged. "Your knowledge of curses is impressive… uncle."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "And you wish me to instruct you?"

Severus arched an eyebrow right back. "Who better?"

It had not escaped Hermione's notice that Severus had avidly and enviously watched Snape's handling of the curse structures of the wedding rings. She might have thought his interest was a little disturbing, if his older self's knowledge hadn't just proven itself so incredibly indispensable. Hermione still felt nothing but distaste for the Dark spells that so fascinated Severus Snape, but she could at least acknowledge that understanding them was more useful than most of the things she had learned in school.

"All right," Harry said. "You two take the ring… Professor Dumbledore, I was hoping you might help us with the cup."

"I will help in whatever way I can," Dumbledore said immediately.

"We know that Riddle's at least planning to put it in a Gringotts vault," Harry said. "But we don't know if he's done it yet. If he has, it would be in the Lestranges' vault. If he hasn't…" Harry frowned. "It's hard to say if his plans will change."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Ginny said. "First we need to know if it's there or not."

"Is that something you can do?" Harry asked anxiously. "Do you have, I don't know, connections with the goblins, or -"

"I think, under the circumstances," Dumbledore said, "it may well be possible to convince the Ministry to confiscate the contents of the Lestrange vault, in retaliation for the damage the Lestranges have inflicted and to prevent the further cause of harm."

Harry gaped at him. "You can do that?"

"I cannot," he said, smiling. "But the Ministry does have that power, yes. It is a power that is rarely exercised, due to concerns about depriving pureblood families of wealth that might otherwise pass to more deserving relations, but in this case… I think I can convince the Minister of the necessity of this course of action."

"That's great," Harry said, looking relieved.

"That leaves Slytherin's locket?" James asked.

"Yeah… But we're not sure where it is. We know where he's planning to hide it. That's what the Inferi are for, to guard it. But we don't think it's happened yet."

"But we know it will happen soon," Ginny added. "That's why he raised the Inferi now."

"So do we need to get it before he hides it?" James asked. "Or after?"

Harry scrunched up his face. "After, I think," he said, though with clear reluctance. "I don't think it would be a good idea to try to take it from him directly."

Snape snorted.

"The defenses around the hiding place are awful," Harry said. "But they're not impossible to get through. It takes two people, though."

"I'll go," James said immediately.

Ginny frowned. "I think I -"

"You'll be busy helping Lily with the interview," James reminded her. "And Granger will be making the coins. I'm the only one left." He glanced at Moody. "Unless you want to take a few days off work?"

Moody scowled. "Can't. Got to train the Longbottoms."

"All right," Harry said. "But you have to promise to do anything I tell you."

James's eyebrows shot up.

"I'm serious," Harry said. "I know what's in there. You have to be ready to follow my lead."

James looked like he would have followed just about anyone's lead, if he could just get back into action. "All right, sure."

"Harry," Hermione said warningly.

"It'll be okay," he said. "I know what I'm doing."

Hermione knew, too, and she knew just as well that there wasn't any way around it. Even the Dumbledore of their world hadn't found a way.

"So you and I will keep an eye on the cave until Voldemort shows up," Harry said to James. "And then we'll get the locket and destroy it." He frowned. "Or someone will. I don't know how to use Fiendfyre, and I don't have a basilisk fang."

"My nephew and I are both capable of using Fiendfyre," Snape said calmly. "We can dispose of the locket."

Moody nodded. "You did a neat job on that Inferi giant."

Harry snorted. "He did a neat job on his house."

Snape shot him a look, while Severus eyed him curiously. "You burned down the house?"

"It was an improvement," Snape said, shrugging.

Severus scowled. "Malfoy burned mine down."

"Tragic," Snape replied.

Severus clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Hermione thought he was probably remembering his burned books and photographs.

"All right," Moody said. "Is everyone clear on their assignments? Anybody need any clarification?"

They all shook their heads.

"Good," he growled. "Happy Horcrux Hunting."


	42. Chapter 42

Author's Note: The next few weeks will be full of vacations, visits, and a lot of catching up at work, so updating in July won't be as frequent. By August I will be back to a regular posting schedule. As always, thank you so much for reading!

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42

The village of Little Hangleton was no more than a speckle of lights and chimney smoke through the thick, swirling flakes descending over the valley. Up on the hill, the old Riddle house stood empty and silent, while the graveyard sprawled in grayish white gloom beneath it. It was into the graveyard that Severus and his older self had Apparated, casting around with quick, cautious looks to make sure they had not been seen by Muggles - or by something worse. Though Hermione and Harry knew that the Dumbledore of their world had been injured by the curse guarding this Horcrux, they didn't know what other defenses he might have faced and overcome.

Severus's glance lingered on the gravestones, silent beneath the falling snow. The place filled him with unease, and he half-expected Inferi to burst from the frozen ground.

Beside him, the older Severus, obviously deducing his worry, murmured, "Unlikely. These graves are filled with nothing more than skeletons now. And the Dark Lord would not have wished to draw attention to his father's grave. Even now, he must know that he would need his father's bones in the event that his plans go awry."

Severus's mouth twisted, as much in distaste at the idea of using _his_ father's bones as at anything the Dark Lord might do. "Why didn't he use his mother's?"

The older Severus shrugged. "Perhaps he never found her grave. Or perhaps the resurrection spell required a man's bones, to create a man's body. He used Potter's blood and Wormtail's hand - both men. In any case, I believe the Dark Lord meant to debase them by using their bodies for his purposes. He would not have wanted to debase his mother."

"She was already base," Severus muttered.

His older self smiled slightly. "Insulting the Dark Lord's mother, are we?"

Severus shrugged. "If anyone's mother deserves it, it's his."

"Mm." His older self sounded amused. "Perhaps you can mention it, next time you speak to Regulus Black."

Severus shot him a quick look. His older self _definitely_ looked amused: a dangerous laughing glint lit his black eyes. "Hermione told you?"

He smirked. "I believe she memorized your entire speech."

Severus felt warmth spread through him, though whether in pleasure at the idea of Hermione memorizing his words or in embarrassment at the look on his other self's face, he wasn't sure. Certainly, the older Severus was mocking him.

No, he realized, not mocking. Teasing.

His life had become very strange.

"What exactly were you hoping to gain?" the other Severus asked suddenly.

"Gain?" Severus tried to remember what he had felt in the moment. It had happened mere days ago, but already it felt like a lifetime. "Nothing. I just wanted the Dark Lord to know I didn't belong to him." He couldn't help giving his older self a sharp look at this.

"An opportunity I never had," the older Severus agreed quietly. "Although I am told Potter disillusioned him about my loyalties at the end, to widespread shock."

Severus could well imagine. Killing Dumbledore must have made his other self seem one of the most villainous wizards who had ever lived. No doubt a few Hufflepuffs had fainted at the news that he was not. Even Voldemort must have felt like he had missed a step.

It was impressive, what his older self had accomplished, and yet Severus shied from it viscerally. The idea of deliberately framing himself as an evil man, of acting the part for a full year - for many years, in the privacy of Death Eater meetings - filled him with a vicarious sense of despair. Though he had always flirted with darkness, though he loved nothing more than to immerse himself in the Dark Arts and even to imagine himself as a Dark wizard, he had never thought of himself as _evil._ His father was evil. Potter and Black were evil, no matter which side they fought on. Even Dumbledore, so benevolent and beloved, had done evil when he had refused to punish Black and Potter for what they had done to Severus.

But Severus? What evil had he ever done? He had insulted Lily, which had been cruel and unworthy of him, but he had never physically harmed anyone who had not deserved it. He had thought that in joining the Dark Lord he could further a cause he believed in, and advance his own status and skill as a result. He had never reveled in the idea of violence, as some did. He perceived it as a necessity, but a largely unpleasant one.

The idea that in another world, this other version of himself had fully embraced a persona that was both cruel and sadistic, even if it was only a mask, unsettled him deeply. It was not a mask he ever wanted to wear.

And yet, he might have. He had longed for a Death Eater mask not so very long ago. But the Death Eaters had represented something different to him then than what they did now. They had been the elite, powerful and talented wizards who refused to accept the limitations the Muggle world imposed. They had been the future of magical advancement. They had been the hope that something in his miserable life would change.

"When did you realize?" he asked suddenly. "That the Death Eaters were not what you believed them to be?"

His older self stared at him for so long that he began to fear he had been insolent, before he remembered that he was talking to his own self and that the idea of insolence between them was absurd. He could speak to this older man as he could speak to no other person. They were kin in ways that Severus had never been with his family.

"It was not until after I heard the prophecy," the older Severus said finally, slowly. "Many months after. In the beginning, when Dumbledore demanded my service in exchange for Lily's protection, I felt that I had betrayed my cause. I had sacrificed everything I believed in to save her from the fate I had unwittingly arranged. I was, at that time, almost solely occupied with spying and brewing for the Dark Lord. I rarely interacted with my fellow Death Eaters, and I knew very little about the tasks they had been assigned. It was not until after I began spying for Dumbledore, when I had been charged with learning of the other Death Eaters' activities, that I began to realize that perhaps their goals and mine had never been aligned."

Severus stared at him. "You didn't realize that when he decided to kill Lily?"

"No. Though I knew her to be innocent, and wanted to protect her for my own sake, I understood perfectly well why the Dark Lord would believe it was necessary to kill her. She was the mother of the child destined to defeat him. Strategically, it would have been foolish to leave her alive."

Severus couldn't hide his revulsion. His older self smiled bitterly. "You have only just begun to fight in this war," he said quietly. "And you are fighting with the Gryffindors, who charge into battle with little heed to tactics. The Order of the Phoenix reacts to every immediate threat with almost no thought to a longer term plan, to a larger picture. The Dark Lord, on the other hand, has a vision. He makes plans that take years to fulfill. He expects his Death Eaters to understand this, to understand that ultimate victory will require decades of toil and sacrifice, indeed, that it will require the sacrifice of innocents on both sides. Dumbledore understood that the Dark Lord could not be defeated unless the Order planned for the future as well. It was why Dumbledore resolved to use me. It was why he convinced me to waste thirteen miserable years as a teacher at his wretched school while we waited for the Dark Lord to return. It was why I remained a teacher even after that, ostensibly playing both sides, waiting to choose a victor. I complied with Dumbledore's demands because I understood their necessity. And I understood the necessity of everything the Dark Lord did to ensure his own victory. But it was not until Dumbledore forced me to examine the nature of that victory that I understood that the Dark Lord's ideals and promises were nothing but lies."

Severus could understand, on some level, what his older self was saying. He himself had researched tactics, had studied the histories of Dark wizards and witches who had risen up and attempted to change the world. He knew that they had killed innocents, and in many cases he had understood the justification for those murders with ease.

Yet it was difficult to ever imagine detaching himself so much from his emotions that he could objectively view the intended murder of Lily as a necessity. Though his feelings for her had begun to shift in ways he had not yet fully identified, he knew that any threat to her would still set him on fire with fury and fear. There could be no justification for such an act, no understanding.

Had his other self really changed so much from what Severus was now that he would react differently? He would have heard the prophecy roughly a year from this moment, perhaps a little longer. Could a year really deaden his emotions so much?

Or was his older self underplaying his reaction, because the experience was too painful to speak about? Severus didn't remember much of what he had seen in his older self's mind, but he remembered the harsh terror that had consumed him when he knew Lily might die.

Terror, he thought, but not fury. His other self had been afraid for Lily, but he had not been angry with the Dark Lord for wanting her dead. At least not then.

"You do not understand," his older self said, watching his face carefully. His tone was carefully neutral, but Severus thought he seemed - disappointed? Hurt? Weary, certainly, as if this were a burden he needed to share.

"I don't understand why you weren't furious," Severus said.

Snow had gathered on his older self's head and shoulders, muting the severity of his black cloak and hair. He looked faded and worn, and much older than his thirty-nine years. "By that time, I had already provided the Dark Lord with information that led to other deaths. How could I be angry on behalf of Lily, when I had not been angry on behalf of the other innocents whose deaths I had caused?"

Severus shivered, and his older self took a step back, his expression closing off, his eyes turning sharp and grim. "Come. We have wasted enough time."

Abruptly, he whirled around, snow scattering from his cloak, which billowed darkly around him as he strode away up the slope. His heart beating faster than usual, Severus followed, filled with a mingling of guilt and horror. He wanted to call out to his other self, but what could he say? He himself had never killed an innocent. He didn't even think he was capable of it.

But he thought he could understand, at last, why his other self had not been able to feel angry. Anger was strength. It was rooted in a desire to survive, in a conviction that survival was deserved. In Severus's darkest moments, he had not felt angry. He had always known, in those moments, how dangerous that was, how intensely he relied on his fury. When he had stopped feeling angry that Potter and Black were tormenting him, he had known he was lost, that they had taken something from him that was more precious than his safety or his pride.

Those moments had never lasted longer than a night, but he could well imagine how they would have lengthened if he had the weight of innocent lives, innocent deaths, on his shoulders.

And he wasn't at all sure that he would have hesitated to hand over information to the Dark Lord, had he become his servant. Though he cringed with shame to think it, he could even imagine that he would have been proud.

Proud to showcase his skill. Proud to prove his worth. Not proud to kill, but that would have made little difference if it hadn't been enough to keep his mouth shut.

His older self had reached a small road, probably dirt and gravel, though it was difficult to tell beneath the snow. Without waiting for him, the older man swept away, following the curve of the road up the hill. Severus jogged to catch up with him.

He felt wary of his older self, but he couldn't bear the cold silence. "I do understand."

The older man wheeled on him suddenly, somehow managing to loom over him though they were the same height. "I hope you don't," he snarled.

Severus was almost relieved to see that at this point, at least, his older self was capable of getting angry.

"You were too concerned with showing off your brilliance to consider the consequences of your actions," he said.

The older man flushed, but Severus could see clearly that he had hit the mark. "You were proud," he added, "and you didn't spare a thought for the people you were endangering. Why should you have? They wouldn't have given a damn about you. No one ever did."

His older self looked almost unnerved, but then seemed to recall that he was talking to his own self, and that it was only natural they should understand each other. "I trust," he said coldly, "you will not make the same mistakes."

"I won't."

They stared at each other for a moment, eye-to-eye. Even in the heat of their argument, Severus couldn't help feeling a surreal and breathtakingly powerful familiarity between them, a kinship in both body and mind. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a brother, but knew it was something more than that, something much stronger, and stranger.

He wondered if his older self felt the same kinship, or if he merely viewed his younger self as a perplexing annoyance.

Or worse - as a torment, a tantalizing glimpse of all the chances he himself had thrown away.

Something in his older self's face shifted, and he said again, in a less biting tone, "Come."

Together, they proceeded up the curving road, wands out, blinking snow out of their eyes. They stopped in almost the same instant.

"You feel it?" the older man asked.

"Yes. In there?" It was a question, because the sudden sense of pervading darkness was all around them.

"I think so," the older man said, sweeping his wand slowly through the air. Severus saw the glimmer of magic, felt its cascading arcs around them. There was a familiarity to it: it reminded him unmistakably of the diadem that had almost snared Hermione.

Carefully, they began to move through the wards, Severus watching as his older self painstakingly drew them apart, like picking apart a spider web. He could feel an awareness ahead of them; whatever remnant of life existed in the still-hidden shack, it knew they were there.

The snow swirled in front of Severus's eyes, blocking his view of his older self's wand movements for a brief moment. Then they were through, the shack appearing so suddenly and so close that Severus felt a jolt of near-panic at its proximity.

The skeleton of a small snake had been nailed to the front door. The windows were too filthy to see through, the roof half-collapsed, the building's ugliness only marginally concealed by the snow. Severus could feel malice radiating from the place in black waves, and couldn't suppress a shudder at the brush of such foreign, hostile magic.

His older self's jaw was clenched, and Severus could see the recognition in his eyes. And after all - his older self had borne this magic within himself, within the Dark Mark, for almost twenty years.

"Can't we just burn it?" Severus whispered.

He had not really meant for the suggestion to be taken seriously, but his older self seemed to consider it for several moments. "I think," he said finally, "that it would be unwise. The Dark Lord would know his Horcruxes are vulnerable. Though he cannot ward the objects themselves against a substance as powerful as Fiendfyre, he would certainly be capable of erecting defenses to protect it, defenses that would be triggered by and that likely could combat Fiendfyre. There is a reason the Dumbledore of my world did not simply cast Fiendfyre from a safe distance when he found the cave where the Dark Lord was hiding his locket."

"Because it's Dark magic?" Severus muttered bitterly.

"I think not," the older man replied, though the shadow of bitterness played at the edges of his mouth as well. "I think the headmaster was aware that the consequences of doing so would likely be terrible, indeed, that they might summon the Dark Lord himself. It is possible that, had he tried, Dumbledore might have been able to dismantle such defenses. Yet he did not attempt it. That suggests to me that he was unwilling to test himself against what was likely to be the Dark Lord's darkest spellwork."

Severus frowned. "There were no special wards around the diadem."

"The diadem was concealed within Hogwarts," Severus replied. "Though the Dark Lord, like many students before him, could cast minor wards within the castle's walls, he did not have the power to enchant the walls themselves. Nor could any truly powerful ward have escaped Dumbledore's detection. I believe the Dark Lord was relying on the magic of the castle itself to protect his Horcrux… He entrusted his soul to the school, believing in his arrogance that he understood its secrets as no wizard since the Founders had."

The older man had not taken his eyes off the shack as he spoke. "I think it can safely be assumed," he murmured, "that the limitations the Dark Lord encountered at Hogwarts do not apply here. There is no magic in this hovel that could have protected a precious piece of his soul. The shack, and the land surrounding it, were the Dark Lord's to command. I am certain he has altered this place to suit his needs, as he altered the cave. And if Dumbledore was unwilling to test himself against the Dark Lord's defenses, then I think it would be the height of folly for me to do so."

"Dumbledore couldn't find a way to trick the rings," Severus pointed out, sneering slightly. "We did."

His older self finally looked away from the shack, meeting his gaze with cool curiosity. "Miss Granger found a way," he corrected. "We simply created the spells necessary to enact it."

Severus clenched his jaw, saying nothing. Though he didn't deny Hermione's brilliance, he also didn't think Hermione's abilities necessarily outshone Dumbledore's - or the older Severus's. He thought it far more likely that Dumbledore hadn't really tried.

His older self gave him a very small nod, not as if agreeing with his unspoken thoughts, but as if acknowledging them. "Miss Granger is used to having her friends with her. She is used to facing every danger with ready help from others. She is used to trusting others. I am certain all of this contributed to her ability to find a solution where we - and Dumbledore - could not. I know that I myself would never have considered a spell that involved relying wholly on another person. Nor do I believe Dumbledore would have. Though he is capable of delegating responsibility when necessary, there can be no denying that he prefers to maintain sole control over every situation - that he, like us, prefers to act alone."

Severus had never considered how Hermione's solid friendships might have altered her way of thinking. Doing so now filled him both with jealousy, and with concern - trusting others could only make her more vulnerable. And yet it had not made her vulnerable here. Because she had been willing to ask something that under any other circumstances would have seemed outrageous and terrible from a couple who barely knew her, because she had not only been willing to trust them, but had believed wholeheartedly that they would act on her need, she and Severus were safe from the repulsive law.

It was, indeed, a solution he would never have considered. And yet it was one that he also trusted, because Hermione was right: the Longbottoms would help them, no matter how they felt about either of them. It was the right thing to do, and that mattered to them.

Severus wondered, not for the first time, what it would have been like to be Sorted into Gryffindor. But that would have been miserable; Potter and Black would have made it so, even if Severus was a student of their own house. And they and Lupin and Pettigrew had proven that not all Gryffindors were as committed to right and wrong as Hermione was.

But perhaps Ravenclaw would not have been so bad.

Or perhaps Slughorn simply should have made more of an effort to make Slytherin a more welcoming place. Maybe Dumbledore should have, as well.

Severus felt a surge of hatred for the old man, and, almost instantly, felt an answering spike in the magic within the shack. He and his older self both turned to face it at once, shoulders braced against the darkness reaching out to them.

There was no need for words of caution between them. They both sensed the deadly will waiting for them, its curiosity and hunger. They both knew what would happen if they let down their guard.

The diadem had attempted to persuade Hermione to put it on. Severus was certain the ring would do the same. Even Dumbledore had been unable to resist the pull.

Severus's older self spent more than a minute examining the door knob before reaching out his gloved hand to turn it. The door creaked open, and Severus thought the sound must have been deliberate on Voldemort's part; it would have been easy to ensure the hinges wouldn't rust. Even knowing the effect was probably intentional, Severus shivered, the high-pitched noise scraping his ears like nails across a chalkboard. His older self gave the door a look of impatient contempt and began examining the interior of the shack without entering it.

"The ring is buried in the floor," he said finally. "We will not provoke its retaliation for entering, but if we attempt to leave with it, I believe the house will respond."

Severus grimaced, but nodded. He supposed there was a certain poetry in the house of Tom Riddle's ancestors coming alive to protect his mutilated soul. No doubt Riddle had thought so.

They entered the shack cautiously despite their conviction that the house would not respond, surveying the filthy room with suspicion and disgust.

"It makes our house seem almost habitable," Severus muttered.

"Almost," his older self agreed.

They crouched down on the floor where the Horcrux was concealed. There was nothing to distinguish it from any other patch of floor, but Severus could feel the malice emanating from it, and his older self's wand traced a revealing spell over it that left no doubt.

The spell to uncover the Horcrux was difficult to break, but not as difficult as it might have been. Severus thought it likely that Voldemort would have wished to tempt any intruder who had made it this far into touching the ring. His stomach twisted with unease as he heard and felt the spell give way, a block of the floor vanishing suddenly to reveal a small compartment, and in the center of that compartment a ring.

He was prepared for the compulsion to put on the ring, and was already Occluding against it. Neither he nor his older self moved. The ring glittered up at them, dark and evil.

"The curse will need to be dismantled," the older man said.

Severus understood the unstated message: _before we can use the Fiendfyre._ Harry had warned them that the Horcruxes could understand, at least to some degree, the words and thoughts of those closest to it. Moreover, he had told them that the locket had tried to strangle him when he had attempted to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor.

They weren't certain that openly discussing the Horcrux's destruction would trigger a response, but Severus, remembering the flare of magic that had corresponded to his own hatred of Dumbledore, had the uneasy feeling that the Horcrux might already have found its way inside his mind.

He wondered if he should tell the older man, but didn't. He had the bitter suspicion that his older self did not share his disdain of Dumbledore, that the guilt he felt for killing the old man had left him incapable of feeling the fury Dumbledore deserved. Or perhaps the change had happened even earlier. Perhaps all those years of Dumbledore manipulating him with Lily's memory had smothered the anger he should have felt.

Severus felt a wrenching rage building inside him, uncontrollably vast. A sudden spasm of hatred struck through him, not for Dumbledore, but for the man crouched in front of him, the man who had enslaved himself to not one but two masters, who had killed innocents and then allowed himself to be collared and leashed by the manipulative old bastard who had driven him to the Death Eaters in the first place. The man who through his pride and indifference had murdered Lily.

A fresh pit of hatred opened inside him. The man had thrown away everything, his life, his heart, his hope, on an unworthy little girl who cared no more for him than for the dirt beneath her feet.

He was pathetic. Weak. Disgusting.

His older self, oblivious to his thoughts, had just begun to examine the curse's configuration when a great, creaking shudder shook the house. They both froze.

The house fell silent, but the silence was unmistakably threatening.

"I think," the older man said, "that removing the curse will trigger the house's defenses."

His question was obvious: could Severus defend them both against the house long enough for him to dismantle the curse?

Severus considered that, with a cold, aching fury, and an even colder sense of curiosity. He was certain he could defend himself. But could he defend his older self?

Why should he?

The man was still waiting for an answer, so he nodded.

He stood, raising his wand and bracing himself as his older self lowered his wand once more to the ring. His greasy hair hung in curtains around his face, the back of his neck dangerously exposed, his quick hands seeming almost frail in the dim light. How vulnerable he was, how trusting. Did he really believe so strongly that his younger self would do nothing to harm him? Did he not know how repulsive he was, how worthless? How much it shamed Severus to simply look at him, to know that he existed and that this pitiful future might once have been his own?

The house began to shake. Windows rattled, boards splintered and split, and a furious hissing sound filled the air.

Severus observed it in silence, curious what would happen, curious what would be required of him.

Cracks appeared in the filthy windows, and Severus faced them, prepared for an onslaught of shattered glass. The floor beneath his boots was shuddering, filling his body with a quivering, vibrating force that he felt even in his bones. Dust, shaken loose from every surface, had begun unfolding into the air like swarms of insects, and Severus coughed, the hissing become so loud he wished he could cover his ears.

He was braced for the shattering of windows. He was not in any way expecting the snake that burst suddenly from the floor beneath his boots, its head surging up to stare at him.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, the serpent's glowing red eyes fixed mesmerizingly on his own. Severus felt a strange kinship with it, a welcoming feeling, an admiration for its sleek grace and deadly beauty. It was slender and dark, the glint of its fangs just visible, but though it was poised to strike, Severus knew it did not really want to hurt him.

It wanted him to step aside.

Severus could hear the older man's murmured incantations from behind him, his concentration absolute. He thought the man might not yet have noticed the coiling, hissing danger poised at Severus's feet, the danger that was entreating him, wordlessly but with unmistakable intensity, to let it pass.

Severus wanted to grant its request. He wanted to stroke it, to feel its smooth scales sliding over his skin, to have its companionship always. It would protect him, he knew. It would strike at his enemies and destroy them. His older self, Dumbledore, the Mudblood -

Severus jerked as if struck, gasping in sudden realization and alarm, and the serpent struck, too, darting forward with furious contempt to bury its fangs in his leg. Yet in Severus's alarm he had stepped backward, and the serpent's aim fell short; its fangs sank not into his flesh but into his boot.

It was not the first time dragonhide boots had saved him from injury, but he didn't think he had ever been as grateful for them as he was in that moment. He jerked his foot away, and the snake clung to it. With a sharp flick of his wand, he beheaded it.

But it was not alone. Dark forms were breaking free of the floor, the walls, even beginning to fall from the ceiling. Severus conjured the first thing that popped into his head, an umbrella, to shield his older self from the falling snakes. They hit it with horrible slithery sounds, sliding off to fall on the floor with hissing thuds.

 _Incendio!_ he thought, waving his wand at them. White-hot fire spurted from his wand, enveloping the hissing creatures, causing no damage whatsoever.

 _Sectumsempra!_

He cut five of them in half with a single slash of his wand, but there were dozens. He slashed again and again, then cried out as a snake landed on his shoulder and fell, hissing, past his neck. He beheaded it before it hit the floor.

 _Sectumsempra! Sectumsempra!_

Twitching, bloody bodies writhed on the floor, and it was impossible to tell which movement was the thrashing of a dying snake and which the coiling of a living one. He lashed out with the same paralyzing curse Hermione was trying to incorporate into her anti-Death Eater coins, and a swathe of the moving bodies stilled.

Another snake sank its fangs into his boot, and he split it in two, raising his wand to paralyze the next squirming pile of snakes.

It was in that moment that the windows finally shattered.

Severus flinched as shards of filthy glass embedded themselves in his back, but he was quick enough to cast a Shield Charm in front of his older self. He held it in place as the glass cut through the air, darting and gleaming with purpose. He felt his own face sliced open more than once, felt the thuds of snakes burying their fangs in his boots, but he held the Shield Charm, hissing like the snakes with the effort.

Then his older self stood suddenly, knocking the umbrella aside, and snarled out the incantation for Fiendfyre.

Fire exploded into the snake-infested house in a blazing unfurling of winged serpents and tongues of flame, devouring the splintered boards, melting the broken glass, and reducing the serpents to ash within seconds. Severus felt a moment's unutterable terror as the fiery creatures rushed toward him, then shock as their bodies split to either side of him, annihilating the wall behind him without grazing a hair on his head.

Then they wheeled back, turning their heads as if summoned, furling themselves back into a bright orange center that burned blindingly for a few brief seconds before collapsing into the form of a hissing Kneazle and vanishing.

Severus stood, mouth gaping in shock, unable to reconcile the snowflakes gently tumbling down around them with the sweat soaking his skin and the lingering smell of scorched earth and reptiles. His older self stood calmly in the midst of - well, not the house, that was gone - but in the midst of the devastation, not a single fold of his robes out of place.

"You did well," the man said, glancing at the half-burned skeleton of a snake whose fangs were still embedded in Severus's boot.

Severus shook it off, filled with a sudden, horrible shame that he would not have voiced even under threat of death. He could still feel the echoes of rage beating through him, echoes that reverberated through every organ and bone with agonizing clarity.

The Horcrux had tried to possess him, and he had almost let it.

"I thought we couldn't use Fiendfyre," he said shakily, suppressing the lingering rage inside him that burned as he remembered how close he had come to incineration. He knew it was untrue: his older self had been in absolute control of the fire the entire time.

"The curse on the ring was connected to the wards," his older self said simply. "Once it was dismantled, there was no further danger."

Severus shivered. There had been a very great danger, his older self just didn't know it.

The older man knelt down in the smoking ashes and began brushing aside debris. Severus knew immediately what he was looking for. Harry had made it clear that he didn't believe the Resurrection Stone would be damaged, not even by Fiendfyre.

Still trembling, Severus crouched beside his older self and began searching the ash. Almost immediately, his gloved fingers brushed against something small and hard, something that rolled freely through the ash. Severus lifted it, brushing it off and turning it over in search of the inscribed symbol. It took some fumbling to find it; though the Stone itself had not been damaged by the fire, some of the glass had melted over it, and Severus had to rub it off to find the symbol.

He had almost forgotten that turning it too many times would summon the dead.

He felt their presence instantly, a shifting of shadows in the corner of his eye. He looked up, startled, then cried out and dropped the Resurrection Stone, throwing himself bodily away from the figures.

They vanished the second the Stone hit the floor.

"What -" his older self began to ask, then, seeing the Stone, gazed at Severus in some curiosity. "You decided to summon the dead?"

"No," he said, flushing. "I was wiping off the ash…" It embarrassed him that his voice shook.

His older self arched his eyebrows. "Who did you see?"

Severus didn't answer, still too unnerved to put it into words. He didn't know why this should be so; he knew the shades couldn't hurt him. They were less than ghosts. And yet the sight of them standing there, pale and bloody…

He shivered, his heart beating painfully against his ribs, his stomach twisted. A fear too irrational and too inescapable to name had seized hold of him.

"They cannot harm you," the older man said.

"I know that," he tried to snap, but his voice was still shaking. He forced himself to Occlude, to clear his mind of the fear clouding it, but it was several minutes before his breathing slowed.

By then, his older self had picked up the Resurrection Stone and was examining it, taking obvious care not to turn it. His wand tip slid back and forth over the surface of the Stone.

"A strange magic," he murmured. "It will not reveal itself."

Severus remembered the children's story Hermione had forced him to read, about the three brothers and their idiot, Voldemort-like quest to conquer death - Death, who had given them his gifts.

But that was just the story. There was no Death, not in the sense of an actual entity.

Still, the idea of it, in this moment, unsettled him.

His older self looked at him again, obviously still curious, but didn't repeat his question. Severus was relieved. He didn't want to put it in words, not now, with the Stone still so close.

His older self seemed remarkably unconcerned when he dropped the Stone into his pocket.

"Come," he said, extending a hand to help Severus up. "There is nothing left for us here."

Severus stood up, glancing around at the ash where the figures had appeared, relieved to leave the place behind. But the Stone was still with them, a lonely, dark presence in his older self's pocket, and Severus shivered as he followed the man out into the snow.


	43. Chapter 43

Author's Note: I'm back! Thank you so much for your patience!

* * *

43

Harry didn't feel completely comfortable taking his dad with him on a dangerous Horcrux quest, but he didn't really see a way around it. He knew James was itching for something to do, for some way to take his mind off of the people he had just lost, and Harry didn't blame him; though he himself had usually spent the first few days after a death wandering around in a half-numb, half-furious haze, sooner or later he had always gotten to the point where the only possible way to feel better was to _do_ something, preferably something that involved fighting evil.

He wasn't sure if it was a healthy coping mechanism or not, but he understood it well, and he wanted to help his dad in any way he could.

But he knew what was coming. Unless Voldemort had changed his plans in some drastic way from what they had been in Harry's world, he was going to hide the locket in the basin full of that horrible potion, and it would be Harry, this time, who would have to drink it, and James who would have to force him to.

Harry was dreading it, to say the least. He knew from Kreacher's experience that the potion didn't kill, so long as you could get away from the Inferi, but he remembered well how pitifully Dumbledore had begged him to stop, and he felt a flush of both shame and fear when he thought of begging his own dad like that.

But at least James didn't know who he was. It wasn't like it had been with Harry and Dumbledore. Harry had loved Dumbledore, and hurting him had been torture in its own right. Harry somehow doubted James would feel that way about his mystery cousin.

It should have made him feel better, but it didn't, not really.

"We're just going to check it out," Harry said, giving James a hard look. "Chances are, he hasn't hidden the Horcrux there yet, and we're going to have to wait. It might be weeks before he shows up."

James nodded eagerly. "I get it. We're just running surveillance until he gets there."

"Until after he leaves," Harry corrected. "He can't know we're there, that would be a disaster."

He could tell James would have liked nothing better than to attack Voldemort head-on, but James also understood how pointless that would be until the Horcruxes were destroyed.

"All right," James said. "But when the time comes, I want to be the one to do it."

Harry suppressed a sigh. "It doesn't matter who does it, so long as it's done."

James gave him a fierce look. "Of course it matters. He killed my parents."

Harry wanted to tell him that killing Voldemort wouldn't bring his parents back, but he shut his mouth. It was strange to think that he and his dad had this in common, now. Snape had told him his dad's parents would have died of some magical illness in the next year or so, so it wasn't something he actually had in common with his own dad. But he could easily see himself in this James, ready for revenge against the Dark wizard who had murdered his mum and dad.

"We'll get him," Harry said. "He'll pay for everything he's done."

James nodded, resolute.

"All right," Harry said. "You've got your Cloak?"

"Of course."

"We'll Apparate under it. The chances of showing up at the same moment as Riddle are pretty slim, but considering our luck…"

James nodded, casting the Cloak over them both. It felt wonderfully familiar, which was bizarre, because his own Cloak was currently with Snape, who had borrowed it in case he and the young Snape ran into trouble at the Gaunt shack.

Gripping his dad's wrist, Harry Apparated them both to the rocky outcrop Dumbledore had taken him to years ago, surrounded by cold gray ocean and flanked on one side by a massive cliff.

Despite himself, he was incredibly relieved Voldemort wasn't there.

"Okay," Harry said. "We have to climb down here, and then swim over to that opening -"

"Swim?" James gave him a perplexed look under the Cloak. "Can't we just Conjure a boat?"

"Er -" Harry had never Conjured anything nearly as large as a boat. "If you want to?"

James smirked. "Transfiguration not your strong suit, Peverell?"

"It's not my worst subject," Harry said, "but no, I never really had a knack for it."

"Watch and learn, then," James said, flourishing his wand dramatically.

A sleek, elegant boat appeared in the water, exactly the same color as the waves. Harry doubted anyone who didn't know it was there would have even been able to see it.

"Brilliant," Harry acknowledged.

James grinned. Awkwardly, they climbed down off the rock together, trying not to shake the Cloak loose. It felt uncomfortable to sit so close to each other in the boat, uncomfortable in a way Harry had never felt with Ron or Hermione, and he wondered what it would have felt like if his own dad had lived and they had gone on adventures under the Cloak together.

 _Not like this_ , he thought, as they carefully avoided touching each other while still trying to stay under the Cloak.

James tapped the camouflaged boat with his wand, and it began to speed across the wildly surging waves toward the opening at the bottom of the cliff. Harry braced himself against its jolting movement, but he still knocked into James with every wave they struck. He wondered if James even noticed or cared. Judging by his furrowed brow, he might be too focused on keeping the boat from capsizing to even think about it.

As soon as they entered the fissure in the cliff face, the water stilled dramatically. The waves behind them faded to a distant roar, while around them the loudest sound was the occasional scrape of their narrow boat against the rock walls, a sound that echoed in the confined space along with the constant sloshing of water.

"What is this place, anyway?" James asked in a whisper.

"Riddle took some little Muggle kids here to torment them when he was a kid," Harry replied, also whispering. "Back when he was at the orphanage."

"Orphanage?"

"I'll explain later," Harry said, glancing warily around. The tunnel had begun to curve, and Harry knew that just ahead the water would end and they would need to climb out into what Dumbledore had called the antechamber.

He flinched as the boat scraped more loudly against the walls, which were drawing closer together as the channel neared its end. James moved in front of Harry so they were sitting single-file, then waved his wand over the boat, which squeezed itself into a skinnier shape.

A moment later, they had reached the rocky end. James and Harry climbed out together.

"Vanish the boat," Harry ordered, not wanting the evidence there if Voldemort somehow snuck up behind them.

James obeyed without question, obviously understanding Harry's worry. In the narrow, dark, salt-reeking cave, it was easy to imagine threats creeping out of the shadows - or the water.

Harry shook himself, moved forward to the stretch of wall where Dumbledore had been forced to bleed, and touched it, wondering if he could feel what the older wizard had felt.

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt a prickling of some kind along his fingertips.

Without telling James what he was about to do, Harry rolled up his sleeve and cut his wand across his forearm, splattering the wall.

"What -" James exclaimed.

"Shh," Harry whispered, though the admonition was probably lost beneath the sound of James's gasp as the section of wall with Harry's blood on it vanished.

"How -"

"Shh," Harry hissed again, and this time James heard him and obeyed. Harry didn't know the healing spells that would fix his cut, so he rolled his sleeve back down, ignoring the pain.

With an impatient, exasperated breath, James gripped his wrist, rolled the sleeve back up, and healed him, giving him an incredulous look as he did so.

Harry shrugged, but did make a mental note to ask Hermione how to do that. Either that, or he'd have to go back to Hogwarts and actually take his seventh year when they got back to their own world.

He grimaced at the thought, then slipped forward through the passageway before James could rush in first. The very last thing he wanted was James accidentally stepping in the lake. If the blood-warded doorway was already in place, the Inferi probably were, too.

The darkness in the cavern beyond was intense. Harry wanted to light his wand, but waited a moment, listening, wanting to make absolute certain they were alone. It was difficult to tell in such a spine-chilling place, but he thought something seemed wrong.

He could hear nothing. He could smell the water, but it made no sound. He peered into the darkness, but there was no hint of light anywhere.

And that, Harry realized, was what was wrong.

"It's not here yet," he whispered. "It would be glowing if it were."

"Horcruxes glow?"

Harry shook his head, remembered James couldn't see him, and said, "When he brings it here, he'll put it on an island. There's a glow from the island, and you can see it from here."

James was silent for a moment. "Did you have a vision or something?"

"No," Harry said. "Divination is definitely my worst subject."

James snorted.

"All right," Harry said. "I think we should wait up on the cliff, above it all. That way we can see when he shows up from a safe distance."

"Sounds good to me," James whispered. There was a muffled thud and a hiss of pain. "The wall's back."

Harry sighed, rolling up his sleeve again. "Out of the way."

* * *

Hermione surveyed the growing pile of fake Galleons on the table in front of her with both weariness and satisfaction. She was dreadfully tired, worn in body and soul (not to mention brain) from the events of the past few days - from the past few years, for that matter. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she did not have to work herself to the bone, when the fate of thousands of lives were not resting (at least partially) on her shoulders. It wasn't that she didn't think she could handle the responsibility. She knew she could, and she knew she should. But sometimes, like now, she just wanted to go home to her mother and her cat and drink tea and read a book that didn't need to contain the secrets to saving the world.

Sometimes, saving the world was exhausting.

But she was proud of what she had accomplished. Proud of what she and Severus and Snape had done with the wedding rings, proud of the coins that were going to accomplish exactly what they had decided needed to be accomplished. It was a relief to know that, even if she was exhausted to the verge of panic and grief-stricken right down to her soul, she could still pull herself together enough to do everything that needed to be done.

She leaned back in her chair, shaking out her hands and blinking her tired eyes. She had been bent over the coins for hours, peering down at their tiny surfaces and maneuvering both them and her wand in a precise, delicate grip that had left her fingers and wrists sore. Hermione had never been one to take naps (at least not on purpose), but she wanted one now, and the urge didn't lessen in the slightest when Fiend jumped up in her lap and started nudging her for cuddles.

Fiend was a lot prettier than Crookshanks, but she was also a lot smaller, and Hermione missed the solid weight of her giant half-Kneazle in the same way she missed her mother's hugs. Neither her mother nor Crookshanks had been very pleased with her before she left, and she could only imagine how furious they would be when she got back.

Of course, from what Snape had said, that would be nothing compared to the fury Harry would be facing. Not just from Hermione's mother, but from Ron.

She was still astonished Harry had left him behind. It was probably the most sensible thing he had ever done, and also the most unlikely. Considering Ron's propensity for holding grudges, Harry was going to be earning back his forgiveness for decades, despite the ease with which Harry himself had forgiven Ron for abandoning them during the war.

Between this and Ron's obsessive conviction that Hermione was dating Snape, it looked like their trio was going to be in rough shape when they finally made it home. Even more so if…

She cut the thought short quickly, shaking her head. She knew perfectly well that the friendships and connections she had made in this world couldn't follow her back home. So there was no point in worrying how Ron would act if he saw how well Hermione got along with Severus. He wouldn't see it, ever. When Hermione left this world, she would never see Severus again.

She knew it wasn't unreasonable for her to feel a sweeping sense of melancholy at the thought, but she tried to push it away, anyway. She had known from the beginning how things would have to end. It was silly to worry about it now.

Fiend, perhaps a little annoyed at Hermione's distraction, jumped out of her lap and onto the table. For a moment, she stood indecisively, gazing around the tent with a bored, restless look that matched the twitching of her tail. Then, without warning, her paw darted out and knocked a stack of twenty fake Galleons clattering to the floor.

"Fiend!" Hermione snapped, leaping to her feet in annoyance.

Fiend's tail swished in irritation. Hermione lunged for her, but too late: the rest of the Galleons were already clanging across the floor, rolling in every direction. Fiend leaped from the table and tore off after one, batting it with her paw and chasing it under the bunk bed.

"Honestly," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she sat back down. With a wave of her wand, she restored the neat stacks to the table, with the exception of the coin Fiend had claimed as her own.

"That's not very helpful, you know," she told Fiend.

"Neither is talking to a Kneazle."

Hermione jerked around, startled. In all the clanging of the coins, she hadn't heard the crack of Apparation. Severus was standing in the entryway, looking tired and pale, his gaze fixed on Fiend as she raced past him, the coin spinning across the floor ahead of her.

"Where's Snape?" Hermione asked, confused, and still very much aware of how odd it was to call one of them by his first name and one of them by his last.

"Getting rid of the Resurrection Stone," Severus said, dropping gracelessly onto the sofa.

"Getting rid of it?" Hermione couldn't object to that, but she wouldn't have expected Snape to do it.

Severus nodded.

"How? Does he know how to destroy it?"

Severus shrugged. "I didn't ask."

There was a strange edge to his tone that caught Hermione's attention. She searched his face, and found him paler than usual. His robes were stained with what she thought might be ash.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shrugged, which Hermione recognized at once as the universal boy signal for "Yes, but I don't want to admit it, so please drag it out of me." She sighed.

Fiend, still chasing the coin, banged into the legs of the table and sent the neatly stacked coins cascading onto the floor again. Severus watched impassively as Fiend dove into their midst.

Hermione, sighing now at both of them, ignored the coins and Kneazle kitten and went to sit beside Severus on the sofa.

"Did you have an argument?" she asked gently.

He shook his head, then shrugged. "Yes, but only briefly." He hesitated. "That was before we found the Stone."

 _The Stone,_ he had said, not _the ring._ "You didn't use it?" Hermione asked, taken aback. She might have expected that of the older Snape, but who would Severus want to see?

Scowling, he said, "Not on purpose."

Hermione considered that. "But you saw someone?"

He jerked his head in an uncomfortable approximation of a nod.

Hermione was about to ask if it had been his parents when he said, "The Death Eaters."

She knew instantly what he meant. "The ones you killed."

He nodded, his mouth twisting angrily. "They were just… standing there." A look of misery crossed his face. "I hadn't seen their faces before. In the church. I was just trying to take them out as fast as possible."

"We would have died if you hadn't," Hermione said.

His mouth was still twisted. "Three of them were women."

That didn't surprise Hermione. Few of the male Death Eaters had been in any condition to pose a threat to them, and Severus had been aiming for the Death Eaters who were doing the most damage.

But it was obvious that it had surprised Severus, for all that she knew a part of him must have recognized it at the time. Perhaps he had simply not allowed himself to think about it.

"They were still killing people," Hermione said quietly.

He nodded.

"Did they say anything?"

He shook his head sharply, looking sick at the thought. "I dropped the Stone as soon as I saw them."

Hermione was relieved. She didn't want to imagine what the Death Eaters she had killed would say to her if they could see her now. Even just looking at their faces again would be a sharp, new trauma.

A trauma that Severus had just experienced.

Hermione considered approaching the subject delicately, but she didn't really know how. "Do you feel guilty?"

"No," he said instantly - too quickly, she thought, to be entirely believable.

She was silent for several seconds, and finally he asked, "Do you think I should?"

"No," she said. "Upset, yes. I think that's only natural, and I would be worried if you weren't. But there's no reason you should feel guilty for protecting us."

He relaxed slightly, then said, almost defiantly, "I would do it again. I wouldn't hesitate. In the moment… it meant nothing to me. They were enemies. I just wanted them gone."

Hermione wasn't surprised by that. She had seen the cool efficiency with which he had killed the Death Eaters, one after the other, with an expression of grim necessity that had never wavered. It was not how she had reacted; she had panicked, and the act of inflicting harm had filled her with an abject horror that her carefully designed and implemented wards never induced. She could plan and arrange the infliction of pain without any pangs of conscience, but committing the immediate act never failed to break her.

"You and I are exact opposites," she said. "In the moment, I couldn't think of them as enemies at all… but now that it's over, that's all I think of them. Whereas you saw them as enemies then, and now…" She gave him an understanding look. "It's more complicated for you."

He gave her a slightly perplexed look. "You couldn't think of them as enemies when they were trying to murder us all?"

She laughed a little, but not happily. "I didn't say it was rational."

He shook his head. "I would say it's decidedly irrational, Hermione."

She shrugged. "They're still people."

Severus's expression darkened. "Some of them."

"Some of them," she agreed.

"And not anymore," Severus added, making her cringe.

They were silent for a moment, watching Fiend roll around like a dragon on her pile of gold.

"I wouldn't have wanted to kill women," Severus said suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, and he shrugged, as if trying to shrug away the weight of it.

"It would be different if you had killed them because they were women," Hermione said quietly. "But you killed them because they were trying to kill us. And anyway, women can be evil, too. Just look at Umbridge. Or Bellatrix."

"Is Bellatrix evil?"

Hermione remembered Malfoy Manor, and shuddered. "In our world, she is. She tortured the Longbottoms into insanity." She hesitated. "She tortured me."

Severus jerked as if she had given him an electric shock. "She tortured you?"

Hermione nodded, grimacing. "Snatchers captured us and brought us to Malfoy Manor. She was there, and the Malfoys."

Severus's eyes glinted darkly. "Malfoy brought me there after he burned my house down," he said, in a tone that was probably meant to be casual. "He left me Petrified on the floor for hours so I could contemplate my imminent demise…"

Hermione felt a strange rush of kinship with him, knowing that they had both suffered there, perhaps even in the same room, perhaps on the same floor. It was a terrible thing to have in common, but it was something she didn't have in common with anyone else - something not even Harry or Ron could understand, though they had been just downstairs at the time.

Impulsively, she took his hand, and felt a small bubble of warmth when he clasped his fingers easily around hers, as if nothing were more natural. But she could see from his face that it didn't feel natural to him. His cheeks were tinged with pink, and for a few seconds he couldn't meet her eyes.

She felt odd when she looked down and realized her left hand was clasping his, their horrible rings gleaming dully. The recollection that they were husband and wife seized her suddenly, and she made a face.

His fingers jerked in hers, and she looked up to find him watching her, frowning at her expression.

"I don't feel like a wife," she explained.

He stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "That's because you aren't a wife, Hermione."

She nodded, glad to hear him say it, keenly aware that someone like Ron probably would have said some variation of "you're my wife" about a dozen times by now, if only to annoy her.

"Does it bother you?" Severus asked suddenly.

She arched her eyebrows. "That we were forced into marriage by an oppressive government that we're now planning to overthrow?"

He grimaced in acknowledgement.

"What did you mean?" she asked, relenting.

He made an uncomfortable movement with his shoulders, looking like he regretted having said anything.

Hermione might sometimes struggle with her own feelings, but she prided herself on her ability to interpret other people's. "Does it bother me that it's you?"

He met her gaze, looking both relieved and apprehensive that she had grasped his meaning. She remembered her conversation with the Snape of her world, and wondered how many of the same insecurities were tormenting his younger, less jaded self.

"No," she said. "I prefer you to anyone."

His cheeks had never quite lost the pink tinge, and she watched it deepen dramatically at her words. She felt a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to hide her face in her hands.

Then she remembered Lily, and she looked away, a great deal calmer, and a little angry with herself.

"Because I know you wouldn't try anything," she said, trying to sound dismissive, as if what she had said didn't matter.

He slid his hand out of hers immediately. "Of course I wouldn't _try_ anything," he said, somehow managing to sound both dangerous and hurt.

She looked back at him, but he wasn't looking at her now. His face was far redder than it had been before, but she didn't think it was the same kind of flush.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said, in a small voice.

He shot her a glare that was every bit as sharp as the glares she knew from his older self. "Why would I be offended?" he said coldly. "It's the truth. I _wouldn't_ try anything."

 _Certainly not with_ _you._

He didn't say the words aloud, but she could read them in the curl of his lip and the derision in his eyes. It shouldn't have hurt her feelings, but it did, badly, and she remembered in a flash how vicious he had been about her teeth, and about that hideous _Witch Weekly_ article, and it didn't matter that this was a different Severus, because his tone and his look and his _meaning_ were all the same.

She stood up, quivering with anger, and said with as much control as she could manage, "I'm glad that's settled."

It would have felt better to storm out of the tent, but she had nowhere to go and she had the coins to finish, so with an impatient wave of her wand she restored the stacks of fake Galleons to the table, froze them in place so Fiend couldn't knock them over, and sat back down to work.

Fiend promptly jumped on the table, batting at the coins, and Hermione watched in savage satisfaction as her efforts to knock them over failed.

Then the Kneazle gave her a look of pitiful disappointment, and Hermione burst into tears.

"Hermione!" Severus exclaimed, and suddenly he was at her side, looking horrified. She buried her face in her arms and tried to pull herself together.

"Hermione," he said, "I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"Yes, you did," she said, trying to sound nasty but ruining it with a choked sob.

"Of course I didn't," he said, a little more sharply.

Having wiped away the last of her tears, she raised her head to glare at him. He was giving her a look of such honest bafflement that she had to reconsider all of the cutting things she was about to say.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, sitting down.

She wanted to keep being angry, but his concern was so plain that she felt a rush of shame and embarrassment, not to mention confusion. She couldn't answer.

He watched her face with a decidedly Snape-like look of puzzlement, though the open worry in his eyes was new and strange. "Hermione," he said quietly, with a look of unease. "You know I _wouldn't_ try anything, don't you? I would never try to take advantage -"

"I know that!" she snapped, sniffling.

"Then what's wrong?"

She had no idea how to answer that question. She didn't even know why she was so upset. Well, she had an inkling, but she couldn't exactly tell him about it.

It wasn't a rational inkling, anyway. She wasn't being rational at all.

"I'm sorry," she said, not meeting his gaze. "I'm just -" She waved her hands vaguely, hoping that would suffice.

She could tell from the perplexed look on his face that it didn't, but he didn't ask again. Maybe he assumed her emotional outburst was the result of the nightmarish horror of the past few days, that she had finally, justifiably, cracked. It probably wasn't even that far from the truth.

She was almost ready to leave it there, to pick up work on the coins, when she abruptly changed her mind.

"Professor Snape used to be very unkind," she said.

Severus's eyes narrowed. "So I've heard."

"To me, I mean."

Severus stared at her, and she thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes.

"You just reminded me of him," she said, shrugging. "Your tone, your expression…" _What you said,_ she thought, but he hadn't actually said it, had he? She was beginning to wonder if he had even been thinking it, or if she had simply imagined it, because it was the sort of thing the other Slytherins would have said.

"I wasn't trying to be unkind," Severus said, with such intensity that she couldn't help but believe him. After a moment, he added, "I thought you were."

"You thought I was what?"

"Trying to be unkind."

She knew what he was talking about immediately, even though she hadn't meant it in the way he must have thought. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is so messy."

Severus snorted in agreement.

"I only meant," she hesitated, "that I trust you not to, you know… be like other boys."

She could tell at once that it had been the right thing to say. A small smile played at the edges of his mouth. Then it curved into a grin.

"I've seen your castration spell, Hermione -"

"It is _not_ a castration spell!"

"- and I like to think I'm not a fool." His grin faded slightly. "Or scum."

"You're not scum," she said, rolling her eyes. "And I wouldn't use that spell on you, Severus."

Saying his first name always felt like she was getting away with something, and from the way he smiled, she thought he knew it.

"What did he say to you?" he asked.

"Who?"

"My older and infinitely less charming self."

Hermione shook her head, embarrassed. "I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll say something to him!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe someone should."

She shook her head. "I _did_ set him on fire, remember."

He laughed, a startled, triumphant sound. "I had almost forgotten." He gave her a look. "Obviously you had no difficulty thinking of _him_ as an enemy."

"I thought he was cursing Harry!"

"So you'll fight to protect him, but not yourself?"

She sighed. "It wasn't a fight. I snuck up on him. It was much easier."

He looked a little offended that she thought sneaking up on him was easy, but only said, "Perhaps you should have been in Slytherin."

She snorted. "Perhaps you should have been in Gryffindor."

They looked at each other for a moment, then grimaced.

"Red wouldn't suit me," he said.

"Green makes me look ill," she agreed.

He looked at his wedding ring. "I suppose gold is tolerable."

She glanced at her own. "Silver wouldn't have been so bad."

Fiend meowed loudly, clawing at the immovable stacks of coins.

"I suppose we know which she prefers," Severus muttered.

Hermione smiled. "You do seem to have a fondness for Gryffindors."

He glared at her in mock-irritation, but she could see a dangerously mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't -"

" _Finite,_ " he said smugly, and the frozen coins toppled to the floor. Fiend followed a moment later with a delighted crash.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, pulling her box of unenchanted coins toward her. "You are _such_ a Snape."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Your favorite Snape?"

Hermione didn't answer, but neither could she hide a guilty little grin.


	44. Chapter 44

44

Hogwarts towered over the lake in snowy majesty, the warm, enticing glimmer of its windows scattering gold throughout the gray night air.

If Severus had been feeling maudlin, he might have remembered a lifetime of cheerless dungeon winters, the mandatory celebration of holidays he despised, the cold, unchanging march of birthday after birthday in the same state of immutable despair. If he had been romantic, he might have thought of bright, crackling fires and the satisfaction of deducting points from beneath every blasted sprig of mistletoe, or perhaps the occasional small glimpse of contentment from a particularly well-gifted book.

Instead, he found himself remembering his last winter here, alone, as headmaster. He remembered the cold terror and pain, the loss of all hope, the desolation of knowing that even if he achieved victory, he had ruined himself. He remembered the inescapable, torturous presence of Dumbledore's portrait. He remembered looking out at the icy, beautiful, miserable grounds and thinking that it would be his last winter alive, and that he was glad of it.

But he had been mistaken. Here he stood, in another winter, in another world. The barren anguish that had consumed him a year ago had lessened more than he would have ever thought possible. He would not say that he was happy, or that he had hope for himself in the future. But neither was he helpless. Though Voldemort and Dumbledore were both alive in this world, he was not bound to either. He was his own man.

Idly, his gloved fingers brushed the Resurrection Stone in his pocket. It was heavier than the vows he had made to either of his masters. A chain waiting to be wrapped around his neck.

Withdrawing his hand from his pocket, he rose swiftly from the ground, flying toward the castle as he had once flown from it. The freezing air bit at his skin. It was a dark pleasure and a terror to fly, smoother and safer than a broom, and yet so weightless and effortless it felt like a dream, as if he were no more than a wisp of thought slipping over the wind. His edges seemed to dissolve into the night, his mind to expand like a rolling mist over the icy lake. It required utter self-control, like all the arts he had mastered: the subtly simmering potions, the ever-changing Fiendfyre, the impenetrably complex occlusion of the mind. And yet, like all of those, it required the ability to unravel within those controlled confines, to become instinct, impulse, intuition.

Severus sped through the air with all the precision of an arrow and all the freedom of a gale, and through his elated terror he felt eerily calm.

His calm wavered darkly as he saw the Astronomy Tower silhouetted against the cloud-covered sky. The pale glow of snow struck him, for a brief moment, like the light of the Dark Mark, and he felt his emotions flail wildly. He wobbled in the sky, gritted his teeth, and gained control again. Then he lowered himself to the top of the North Tower.

He would rather risk encountering Trelawney than his memories tonight.

The castle corridors were cold and familiar, the occasional torch casting a dim orange glow across the otherwise shadowed stone. Even if he had been walking in utter darkness, he would have known his way. The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office leaped aside obligingly as Severus uttered the password Dumbledore had given him.

A hundred nights like this flashed through his mind: returning to the castle in darkness, slipping through the corridors unseen and ascending the stairs to Dumbledore's door, bearing information. He had thought this particular aspect of his life was done forever, but he had been wrong.

 _I do not belong to him,_ he reminded himself. _This time I am the master._

"Mr. Prince," Dumbledore greeted warmly. "Please sit down."

Automatically, Severus's gaze flickered upward to where Dumbledore's portrait would have been, but of course the space was empty. Dumbledore was flesh and blood, his silver hair and beard shining in the pale candlelight, his robes shimmering softly.

It was impossible not to feel relief. Weariness that Severus rarely allowed himself to acknowledge washed over him, and he sank gratefully into the proffered chair.

Dumbledore was watching him curiously, perhaps sensing some of Severus's emotions. Severus wondered if he had realized who the so-called Mr. Prince was yet; surely time travel had crossed the old wizard's mind as a possible answer, though of course he must be puzzled as to how it had been accomplished.

"Were you and your nephew successful?"

"Yes," Severus said. "The ring has been destroyed."

Something flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. "Has it been completely destroyed? Or are there… remains?"

Severus arched an eyebrow. "You mean, did I destroy the Resurrection Stone?"

Dumbledore blinked, then smiled. "I see you are very well informed, Mr. Prince."

"I am," Severus said, with a pointed glance at Dumbledore's robes, where no doubt the Elder Wand was stowed.

He could see from the twitch of Dumbledore's eyebrows that his glance had not been missed. For several moments, the older wizard said nothing, merely surveying him with piercing eyes. Then he smiled.

"My dear Mr. Prince," he said, "I really am very curious about the source of all your knowledge. You, Miss Granger, and Mr. Snape are astonishingly well informed… both about myself and about Lord Voldemort. That is no small accomplishment."

"As I informed Mr. Moody," Severus said, "I served as a spy in Riddle's inner circle for some time."

"I was not aware that Tom Riddle was in the habit of confiding the secrets of his soul to spies."

"His confidence was not needed. I had other sources."

"And do you also have sources placed close to me?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"Close enough," Severus replied.

"Are we not on the same side?"

Severus considered that. "We are both opposed to Tom Riddle. For that purpose, yes, we are on the same side."

"But not for other purposes?"

"I prefer to make my own choices." Severus met his gaze steadily. "You are in the habit of arranging for choices to be made according to your own designs."

"And what is your design, Mr. Prince?"

"To kill Tom Riddle and end this war."

"That is all?"

Severus raised his brows. "Is that not enough?"

"Miss Granger has been heard threatening to overthrow the Ministry."

Severus gave Dumbledore an incredulous look, then, recollecting that _he_ had never had the dubious pleasure of watching a bushy-haired child regurgitate textbooks at will, allowed himself a chuckle. So Albus Dumbledore thought Hermione Granger was a threat to his well-ordered universe, did he? Well, Severus saw no need to reassure him.

"Subtlety has never been her strongest suit," he said.

"Then you do not deny that that is your aim?"

"My aim? Certainly not. It sounds unspeakably tedious. But Miss Granger is at liberty to do whatever she likes, and she has never been deterred by the prospect of unpleasant work."

Severus was satisfied to see a flash of rare uncertainty from the headmaster - uncertainty, because he was not sure whether Severus was being serious or not.

Keeping his tone light in an evident effort to feel Severus out, Dumbledore said, "Then your Miss Granger would like to rule the world?"

Severus had never really considered the matter, but answered with an indifferent shrug, "Probably."

Dumbledore's mouth tightened.

"She will be a benevolent ruler, I assure you," Severus said, waving a hand dismissively. "You shall have to pay the house-elves wages, but other than that I doubt she will interfere much at Hogwarts."

"I see."

Severus smirked. Dumbledore still seemed uncertain whether or not to take him seriously, which amused Severus beyond words. His discussions with his own Dumbledore had always revolved around precious Potter and the Dark Lord, the same miserable subjects canvassed night after night after night. He suspected tormenting Dumbledore with the prospect of a frizzy-haired little terror plotting to take over the world would provide him with entertainment for many nights to come.

But for now, they had business to discuss. "Have you made any progress with the cup?"

"Yes and no," Dumbledore said, sighing. "I have determined that the cup is not at Gringotts. But as to where else it might be, I am afraid I do not know."

Severus considered a variety of possibilities before dismissing them all out of hand. Though he knew the Dark Lord well, it was Potter who really understood him, Potter who would stand the greatest chance of guessing where else the cup might have been hidden.

If, of course, the cup had been hidden at all. Potter had sent a message that the locket had not yet been placed in the cave, which might suggest that the Dark Lord might still have both the locket and the cup to hand.

But then again, Miss Granger had reported the Lestranges as Death Eaters far sooner than they had been exposed in Severus's world, and, with the possibility of stowing his Horcrux in Gringotts eliminated, the Dark Lord might have already decided on an acceptable alternative.

"Very well," Severus said. "I shall have my sources explore other possible locations."

Dumbledore looked like he would have liked to ask what other possibilities he was considering - or perhaps who his sources were - but Severus did not give him the chance.

"There is another matter which I wished to discuss with you, Headmaster."

"Oh?"

"There is a basilisk lying dormant in this school. Though it is unlikely, once Riddle is killed, that any other wizard or witch will ever have the ability to awaken it, I think it would be foolish to take such a risk."

"I agree completely," Dumbledore said. "Indeed, I have been attempting to learn the location of the Chamber of Secrets ever since I discovered there was a basilisk in its depths."

That gave Severus pause; he had not known Dumbledore was aware of the basilisk. But then, perhaps Miss Granger had already informed him of it. Or, perhaps more likely, Dobby had overheard Miss Granger discussing it and had passed the information on.

"I know the location of the Chamber of Secrets," Severus said. "Moreover, I believe your phoenix is capable of taking us there."

Dumbledore looked at Fawkes, who puffed up slightly in surprise and pride.

"We shall, of course, require a rooster," Severus added.

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "I believe Hagrid has one or two in his flock."

Severus nodded. They could both, of course, Conjure roosters, but Severus was not certain a Conjured or Transfigured rooster would be sufficient, and evidently Dumbledore agreed.

They did not speak as they descended the stairs from the headmaster's office, and moved silently through the corridors, unnoticed by anyone, even the ghosts. Severus was filled with a strange elation: to be walking beside Dumbledore, the faint scent of sherbet lemon and rich fabric swirling in the air around them, was like something out of a dream - someone else's dream, because Severus's dreams of Dumbledore were all of death now. He had forgotten the cool sting of magic the older wizard could never quite conceal, the precise shade of silver glinting in his beard, the confidence and sprightliness of his stride. He had forgotten what it felt like to be with Dumbledore, and not be overwhelmed by the memory of having sworn to murder him.

The same keen, painful joy that had struck him in the square in Godric's Hollow fell over him again, and he felt a rush of shame when he realized tears were pricking at the edges of his eyes.

It was strange, and entirely unexpected, that seeing Dumbledore alive would bring him more relief and more solace than seeing Lily. If anything, he had expected to be furious with Dumbledore, to remember only the rage and misery of those last two years, first knowing that he would murder the man, then knowing that he _had_ murdered him.

Instead, he felt only a tired, frail sense of gratitude, as if some secret weakness had opened up inside him, a weakness that belonged to Dumbledore alone.

Not even Lily had left him with a feeling like this. Lily was almost a stranger now. Dumbledore was, in an unanticipated way, home.

The pale glow of the snow rose around them as they left the castle. Above them, the brilliant orange phoenix glided through the night like a flame, his reflection glinting in golds and reds on the white ground below. Severus savored the crunching of their footsteps in the snow, the bite of the cold, the softer brush of snowflakes, which were settling like a crown on Dumbledore's head. Hagrid's hut was snow-frosted and dark, though a narrow spiral of smoke escaped in wisps from the chimney.

When Dumbledore knocked on his door, they heard Hagrid shout out a surprised, half-pronounced swear word as he was no doubt jerked from sleep.

His tangled hair and beard were all Severus could clearly make out when he opened the door. He didn't think the half-giant even noticed him. "Headmaster?" he mumbled. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Not at all, Hagrid, not at all. Please forgive me for calling so late. I was hoping I might borrow a rooster."

Hagrid blinked a few times at the oddity of the request, but Dumbledore had always been in the habit of asking for odd things, and Hagrid managed to wake up enough to say, "A rooster? All right. They're in the coop…"

"No need to trouble yourself, Hagrid, I can retrieve one myself. I merely wanted to do you the courtesy of asking."

"Oh… Thanks, Professor, you didn' have to do that."

Severus suppressed a snort. It could not have been more obvious Hagrid would have preferred to have been left to sleep. Severus thought he could smell Ogden's wafting out of the warm hut.

"You have my thanks, Rubeus," Dumbledore said. "Please excuse me for disturbing you. Good night."

Sleepily, Hagrid shut the door. Severus arched an eyebrow at Dumbledore, who merely twinkled at him before strolling around the side of the hut to the chicken coop.

The rooster was calm enough at first, but when it caught sight of Fawkes glowing brilliantly above it, it tried to take off across the snow, discontented noises emerging from its throat. Dumbledore cast a mild sleeping charm on it, and it toppled face-first into the snow.

"Our savior," Severus muttered.

"Even the smallest and most unexpected of creatures can have the power to shape destiny," Dumbledore said cryptically.

Severus could neither stop himself from smiling nor from rolling his eyes. _Dumbledore._

The old man smiled, almost as if he knew what Severus was thinking.

"Now," he said, "I believe you indicated Fawkes can bring us to the Chamber?"

Severus nodded, glancing up at the fiery bird. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in the second floor girls' bathroom. The Chamber itself is located beneath the lake. The entrance is only accessible with Parseltongue, but I am told phoenixes have the power to enter using their own magic."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, picking up the unconscious rooster, "phoenix magic has few barriers. I should have thought of asking Fawkes to look for the Chamber before. But no matter. Fawkes?"

The phoenix swooped slowly overhead, and both Dumbledore and Severus reached up to grip his tail feathers. A feeling of wonderful lightness and warmth stole over Severus, a glow of gold and red that reminded him, not of Gryffindors or fires, but of Fiend. There was a brilliant flash, a rush of heat that left him breathless, and then he and Dumbledore were standing in a dark, silent chamber, its floors and serpentine columns coated in a thin layer of glittering ice.

They released Fawkes, and he soared overhead, a shadow of golden red sliding over the ice beneath him. Severus could see icicles dangling from the ceiling above; tiny cracks in the stone, formed over the centuries, had allowed some of the lake's water to seep through, and in the depth of winter the Chamber had clearly frozen.

Dumbledore lit his wand, and a pale silver glow swept over the frosted stone, glittering along the carved scales of snakes and glinting dully as it struck pools of solid ice. In the depths of the Chamber, they could just make out the shadowy outline of a towering figure.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured. "A work of great ambition, to be sure…"

Together, they followed Fawkes toward the statue at the end of the hall. In the pale light of Dumbledore's wand, Salazar Slytherin seemed to shift, his sorcerer's robes shimmering with ice. His face was grave and still.

"The basilisk is concealed in a hidden den within Slytherin's head," Severus said, involuntarily lowering his voice to a whisper. "When the serpent is called forth with the use of Parseltongue, the statue's mouth will open."

"But how to call it forth without Parseltongue?" Dumbledore murmured, sounding intrigued rather than stymied by the problem.

"Blood?" Severus suggested.

Dumbledore gave him a disappointed look. "A rather crude solution."

Severus returned the look with one of impatience. Dumbledore's fixation with sophisticated solutions had led to his dismissal of many more efficient alternatives over the years. "There are few beasts that do not respond to the lure of blood," he replied. "Particularly Dark beasts."

"True," Dumbledore allowed. "But I suspect there are other ways of calling the basilisk forth."

Severus enjoyed a puzzle as much as any reasonably intelligent wizard, but he saw no reason to trifle with their lives - or their time.

Still, watching Dumbledore carefully examine the stone toes of the great Salazar Slytherin might be worth a few extra minutes of his life.

"I believe," Dumbledore said after several minutes, "that any attempt to penetrate the statue by force will result in the basilisk's immediate release."

"Very well," Severus said, pointing his wand at the rooster Dumbledore had left lying on the floor. " _Enervate!_ "

The rooster jerked, wobbled to its feet, and peered around its new surroundings with obvious unease.

"I think -" Dumbledore began.

The rooster crowed suddenly, a high-pitched, slightly aborted sound that was cut off, suddenly, by a deafening crash above them. Severus looked up in time to dodge sideways as a massive chunk of rock - half of Slytherin's face - burst away from the statue above and smashed onto the floor all around them.

A writhing, hissing, agonized sound echoed through the Chamber, and Severus ducked behind a column, glancing back to see Dumbledore, across from him, do the same.

Something enormous slithered and thudded to the floor, coiling across the stone with an angry, or perhaps pained, rasping sound emerging from what Severus imagined was a gigantic throat.

The rooster, perhaps stunned from the crashing rock, didn't seem to have noticed the approaching serpent. Severus did not dare glance around the edge of the column for fear of looking into the basilisk's eyes, but he knew the creature was getting close, probably close enough to devour the rooster.

Across from him, Dumbledore was eyeing the rooster with an intensity that seemed to be having no effect.

Picking its way through the rubble of Slytherin's face, the rooster stepped up onto a slab of broken stone, glanced around as a terrible shadow fell over it, and stretched its neck up, throat twitching -

\- only to disappear as the serpent's head slammed downward, its jaws closing over the bird and shattering the stone it had been standing on.

Fawkes uttered a single, mournful cry.

Severus glanced at Dumbledore, who, like him, had moved farther back into the shadows, determined to avoid direct eye contact with the basilisk. Dumbledore did not look alarmed, exactly, but Severus could see the older man's mind was racing.

They had no Sorting Hat, no sword -

Perhaps, yet again, Severus could make use of Fiendfyre?

He was just raising his wand when an eerie, unnatural sound split the air on the other side of his column. It was high-pitched, unraveling, twisting like a madman's scream -

Or like a rooster's call, from the depths of a basilisk's stomach?

Severus only had a few seconds to contemplate the improbability of this before the serpent thudded, quite dead, to the floor in front of him. Its scales were smoking slightly, and its eyes seemed to be seeping harmlessly to the floor. Fascinated, Severus stepped forward, examining the carcass. On the other side, Dumbledore was doing the same.

"Curious," Dumbledore commented.

Severus did not reply. He had already donned his dragon hide gloves, withdrawn an empty vial from his robes, and started collecting samples of the basilisk's quickly dissolving eyeball.

"A rare opportunity," Dumbledore mused. "I wonder if the rooster survived?"

Severus severely doubted it, but said nothing as, vial filled, he moved on to examine the smoking scales. Withdrawing his silver knife and a jar from his robes, he began prying a few scales loose.

"You are a potions master, I believe?"

"Yes," Severus answered shortly, focused on his task.

"I wonder, have you ever considered teaching?"

Severus snorted, shot Dumbledore a dark look, then remembered this wizard would not understand the joke.

"I despise children," he offered by way of explanation.

"So you said," Dumbledore replied, no doubt remembering their conversation at St. Mungo's, when Severus had explained the steps he had taken to avoid complying with the marriage law.

"And yet you think I would consider teaching?"

"Young minds are always in need of instruction. And I am afraid our potions master may be retiring soon…"

"I daresay you will find someone more suited to the task than I."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore sighed. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts position will likely become vacant again soon, as well…"

"Not if we kill Riddle."

Dumbledore arched his eyebrows. "You know about the jinx, then?"

"I do," Severus answered with a scowl, thinking of his yearly applications to a job Dumbledore was too afraid to give him.

"Perhaps one of your young associates would be interested in the position, should it become vacant?"

"Do you always attempt to persuade new acquaintances to seek employment at your school?" Severus countered, wondering if that might explain Lockhart.

Dumbledore smiled. "Only those I believe to be qualified."

Evidently that particularly requirement had lapsed by the time Lockhart had applied. "I suggest you speak to my young associates yourself. I do not speak for them." He hesitated. "Although I doubt Miss Granger or Mr. and Mrs. Peverell will be interested. When the war is over, we will likely be leaving the country."

"But you will be leaving your nephew behind?"

Severus paused in his efforts to pry loose a particularly stubborn scale. Would he be leaving his younger self behind? It sounded harsh, even heartless, when Dumbledore phrased it like that. And yet he could hardly invite his younger self to join them in their reality. Though it would be easy enough to pass the young man off as his son (no matter how much he cringed at the thought of the questions with which he would no doubt be bombarded), his and Miss Granger's research into the gates had never indicated what consequences an inter-universal traveler might experience from residing in a foreign reality over an extended period of time. What if his younger self experienced some kind of molecular damage?

What if he, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Potter had already experienced such damage?

He wondered if there were a Healer, in this reality or his own, whom he could trust enough to ask. He was not certain his knowledge of anatomical spells was sufficient to diagnose himself with a previously undiscovered alternate reality-induced condition.

It was no doubt a project that would require his attention when his work in this reality was done.

Dumbledore was still waiting for an answer, so Severus shrugged and said, "He is free to do as he chooses. I am not his master."

"I am surprised you did not return to Britain when his parents died."

Severus shot him another dark look. "I had been estranged from the family for many years. If it had been possible, I would have removed him from that home long before either one of his parents died."

Dumbledore flinched, which caught Severus by surprise. Dumbledore had never evinced the slightest sympathy for, or even the hint of any knowledge of, Severus's life outside of Hogwarts. As a teenager, Severus had assumed Dumbledore was willfully ignorant; as an adult, and a teacher, it had become clear to him that it would not have been possible for the headmaster to track the well-being of every single student, and whatever resentment Severus had felt for the old man on that count had been squarely shifted to Slughorn, who had been given every opportunity to notice and who had almost certainly willfully disregarded the signs. Severus had assumed, at that point, that Dumbledore had no idea that his home life was unsatisfactory, although Severus's efforts to change his name to Prince should at least have offered him some clue.

But this Dumbledore clearly _did_ know.

"You were aware of his situation?" Severus asked, his voice lowering dangerously.

"Not until recently," Dumbledore said. "Has your nephew not mentioned our - for lack of a better term - row?"

Severus felt his eyebrows shoot up. "He has not."

Dumbledore grimaced. "Your nephew laid many charges at my feet, most of which, I am afraid, were justified, although I can state with honesty that I had no inkling whatsoever that his home life was… inadequate."

Severus, remembering what Potter had told him about the Dursleys, wondered briefly what difference it would have made if Dumbledore _had_ had an inkling.

"What other charges did he lay at your feet?"

Dumbledore hesitated. Severus, quite against his will, felt a flash of anger.

"I assume your response to the attempt on his life during his fifth year was mentioned?"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered. "That was, in fact, the primary source of his anger with me. Quite justifiably, of course…"

Severus eyed him carefully. He and his own Dumbledore had never discussed the incident at the Shrieking Shack, beyond his efforts to convince Dumbledore not to hire Lupin as a teacher. Dumbledore had certainly never admitted any guilt for his actions at the time.

"You acknowledge you deserve his anger?"

"Oh, certainly. Although I did not think so at the time, I am ashamed to say…" Dumbledore sighed. "I confess, I did not know - or perhaps did not wish to know - the nature of your nephew's interactions with Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew. I had been informed of their quarrels, of course - numerous as they were - but I had generally been given the impression that Mr. Snape was much more willing to inflict serious harm than his opponents were."

"Mr. Snape," Severus said coldly, "was facing four opponents, and wished to end the 'quarrels' quickly."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "when I reviewed Madam Pomfrey's records, it became clear to me that such was the case."

Severus felt a moment's turmoil, consisting of both indignation and validation, at the realization that Dumbledore had read his medical file. Feigning indifference, he said, "Then you realize that they were bullies?"

"Oh, yes. There is now no doubt in my mind about that." Dumbledore's mouth tightened. "And I believe Mr. Potter's recent conduct during Order meetings can leave no doubt that he has not managed to change, despite the discussion I had with him."

"You had a discussion with him?" Severus asked, both surprised and incredulous.

"I did - with all of them, with the obvious exception of Mr. Pettigrew, who by that point had been revealed to us as a traitor."

"Your discussion does not seem to have had any effect."

"I believe it had an effect on Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore said sadly.

Severus did not reply. He doubted whether Lupin, dead or otherwise, would have remained affected for long under the influence of Black and Potter.

"In any case," Dumbledore said, "I am glad to see that Mr. Snape has found an ally in Miss Granger - or should I say, in Mrs. Snape?"

"I would not recommend saying it within her hearing," Severus replied.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Not yet, in any case. But in time, perhaps…?"

Severus turned his attention back to the basilisk. He was not in any mood - nor did he imagine he would ever be - to indulge in Dumbledore's matchmaking games. Particularly not where his younger self was concerned.

"In any case," Dumbledore persisted, "it would seem they have become good friends."

"She is a better friend than he has ever had before, I daresay," he answered, with more bitterness than he intended.

"But perhaps you think he will find it difficult to adjust… out of the country?"

Severus returned the wizard's probing look with an amused one. Of course he knew Dumbledore was suspicious; Dumbledore was no fool. But it _was_ foolish of him to think Severus would simply surrender the answers.

"Or perhaps you think he does not belong there?" Dumbledore pressed.

Yes, Severus thought, Dumbledore clearly suspected time travel. "I do not think he has ever felt that he would belong anywhere."

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed. "The travails of youth."

Severus cast him an impatient look. _He_ , after all, was no longer young, and yet he was speaking as much of himself as of his younger self. When had he ever felt any sense of belonging? He might be fond of McGonagall and Flitwick, of the Longbottoms and of Miss Granger, but he did not fool himself into thinking he belonged in their lives. McGonagall and Flitwick cherished him as a prodigal son; the Longbottoms were grateful for the healing he had provided them. And Miss Granger... Merlin knew what went on in the girl's head. She valued him for the intellectual stimulus he provided her, he supposed, and perhaps because he was as challenging a project as elf rights and marriage laws.

But he did not belong with any of them. He was the dark specter at their bright dinners, the awkward, unhappy guest in their comfortable, happy homes. He valued them all, and cared for them, and would die for any one of them without hesitation. Yet he could not deny that there was something missing from his life, a need that even Fiend, his closest companion, could not fulfill.

He had never bothered to define the need before. Until the past few days, he had assumed the need was for Lily. But he had seen Lily as she was now, and perhaps as she would always have been: a girl who wanted a normal life, something he could never have wanted or given her.

Then what did he need, if not Lily? What was this absence in his life, that his friends - such as they were - could not fulfill? Was it simply that he wished to be treated as an equal? Or was it more?

The very idea of wanting more of anything was utterly foreign to him. He had suppressed all hope for _more_ the moment Lily had died. No more friendship, no more happiness, no more love.

Even now, he did not think he deserved more. But it was hard to cling to that conviction when he was so tired of it. Or perhaps he had been more affected by what Mrs. Evans had told him than he had realized: her observation that Lily had died not because he had cared too much, but because he had tried to stop caring. Perhaps he was tired of exerting every effort to resist the urge to care. Perhaps he simply wanted to be himself, as he had never allowed himself to be before.

The acrid stench of the basilisk's smoldering corpse reminded him that this was not the place for his weariness or his loneliness. He had too much to do, too much to accomplish, to allow himself this weakness. His skills as a spy were slipping; even his willingness to lie to Dumbledore was half-hearted at best. He needed to be the sharp, cold weapon he had made himself during the war, but cracks, perhaps irreparable, had begun to appear.

Yet his work was not done. There was no time to rest, or to heal.

"Stand back," he told the old man. "I'm going to extract a fang."


	45. Chapter 45

45

The stars were bright pinpricks of discomfort at the edges of Lord Voldemort's vision, but the torment of the moon had sunk beneath the horizon, and he was free, at last, to open his eyes.

The snowy slopes around his caverns had been a pale wash of agony even in the darkest of nights, but he had come south tonight, and the thin glitter of frost was more shadow than light. He had already extinguished the miserable orange of the Muggle streetlamps; a few luminous screens in the nearby Muggle houses had followed. The street was dark, glinting ominously but bearably in the starlight. Voldemort felt a thrill of satisfaction, even a thrill of triumph in his lingering pain.

Dumbledore had wounded him, but even wounded he was deadlier than the old fool. As Dumbledore would see, soon enough.

He did not light his wand as he slipped from shadow to shadow into the first of the houses. He did not need his wand to sniff out the Muggles living inside. He found them easily, and dispatched of them in the pale glow of their Muggle clock. Then he moved to the next house, and the next.

This was power. This was his future, and the future of the world he would build.

When he had finished with the last house, he rested, not because he was tired, but because he wished to savor this feeling. Dumbledore had sought to take this away from him. Would the old man realize that he had only spurred Voldemort to greater heights? That the hindrances and delays he had suffered with his living servants had all been removed? He still had Bellatrix, and Regulus, and perhaps Barty Crouch, Jr. They would be useful, for a time. They wielded great influence over the blood purists. But, ultimately, Voldemort was more powerful alone.

As Dumbledore would see.

He raised his wand, voice rising in an incantation no one on this wretched Muggle street was alive to hear. A pale green glow pierced the night and his eyes, but he allowed it to seep through him, as it was seeping through the shadowy street. He had left the doors open, black holes in the night. Through them, the barest hints of movement began to emerge.

Voldemort, despite himself, felt a shiver of distant horror. How much greater, then, would be the horror of those who attempted to defy him?

Not that he anticipated these Inferi ever facing such a challenge. They were a precaution only, a gruesome guard for the cave, and the locket. He had been too careless with his diary; he had left it with Malfoy, and Malfoy had betrayed him by getting caught. The diadem, Voldemort knew, would be safe. He alone had discovered the deepest secrets of Hogwarts; not even Dumbledore knew of the hidden room. And the Gaunt ring was well-guarded, although perhaps he should return to the shack to strengthen the defenses… He would have to devise a guard worthy of the descendant of Salazar Slytherin. His serpents would defend the ring well, but perhaps something larger…

He would consider it. But first, the locket. And then the cup…

He smiled as his new Inferi shuffled their way into the dark street, blood streaking the pavement behind them. Yes, they would be a fitting guard. And for the cup, he had guards yet more terrible in mind…

He only hoped that they would agree.

* * *

It was long past midnight, the cold winter sky streaked with stars, the waves crashing unceasingly against the cliffs. Harry's body ached from lying so long in the same position. Stretched out flat across the smooth rock at the top of the cliff, he had been staring down at the black sea for hours, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak and warmed by a variety of charms James had cast.

James, contrary to their agreement of alternating the watch, was wide awake beside him, fidgeting from what Harry suspected was more restless energy than cold.

He had quickly discovered that his dad was as capable of staying awake late into the night as he was. But James, unlike Harry, had not mastered the ability to wait. James had been bored within the first hour of their watch, and that had been three days ago. Since then, Harry had watched his dad oscillate from one extreme of boredom to another, sometimes bouncing nervously in place, sometimes chattering (in a whisper, at Harry's insistence), sometimes lying flat on his back and groaning up at the sky.

"Why can't he hurry up?" James had asked more than once, and Harry had to suppress a sigh as he patiently reminded James that for all they knew it would be months before Riddle showed his ugly face.

Every few hours or so, James would become focused with a sudden intensity, fury and determination hardening his features, and half an hour or more would pass with him staring fixedly at the rocky outcrop below them, as if he was convinced Voldemort was about to pop out of thin air. Then, inevitably, he would begin to slump back down again, scowling and grumbling, as Riddle failed to appear.

Harry, for his part, was more than capable of lying immobile for hours at a time, brooding on all the things that could go wrong with his admittedly very reckless and haphazard plan. He was trying not to think about the potion; he could still remember, vividly, Dumbledore's anguish as he had tipped the liquid down the old wizard's throat, and he could only imagine what horrors lay in store for him. And then there were the Inferi… Even though Harry knew exactly how to avoid them, he didn't dare let himself hope that they wouldn't emerge from the lake at some point or other. They didn't frighten him as much now as they once had; he had seen enough death that corpses alone held more grief than terror for him. But these weren't just corpses. They were pale, slimy, decaying corpses creeping out of a disturbingly silent lake in a dark cave Voldemort had designed to protect a piece of his hideous soul.

Even with the knowledge that fire would protect him burned indelibly into his brain, Harry was having a hard time not shivering at the prospect.

And then there was James. James, for all that Harry had been given the irreplaceable opportunity to know him better these last few days, was still an unknown. Harry wasn't sure James could be trusted to keep shoving the potion down his throat. He wasn't sure James could keep calm around the Inferi, or get Harry and the Horcrux safely out of the cave when it was all over. His dad was brilliant at spells, and unfazed by danger, but Harry knew from long experience how rare it was to find someone who could really keep their head in a crisis, and he hadn't yet been given the chance to determine whether James was one of those rare people.

It shouldn't have made him nervous to place his faith in his dad, but it did.

And yet he was happy, very happy, in a surreal sort of way. James didn't feel like his dad, of course, more like a friend, but even that was more than Harry ever could have hoped for, even if he knew James was really pining for Sirius and Remus (and maybe even for Pettigrew, though he certainly hadn't said so). James never went more than an hour or two without mentioning either Padfoot or Moony, and Harry had heard enough Marauders-themed stories in the past three days to keep him delighted for years to come (although Snape had, unfortunately, featured prominently in several of them).

And it was hard, while soaking up James's presence, not to understand why Snape had hated him. James, for all his sparkling mischief, was still arrogant in a way that reminded Harry inescapably of Malfoy. Worse, Harry could tell that James was taking a fair measure of satisfaction from telling stories about Snape, specifically because they bothered Harry so much. There was a subtle but undeniable thread of sadism in almost every story he told. It made Harry uncomfortable, and sad, but more than anything he just wanted to smack James over the back of the head and tell him to grow up.

It was strange, but Harry had never felt so old as he did in his parents' company.

"What d'you reckon he'll do next?" James asked suddenly, his voice low enough that no one but Harry, lying right beside him, could have heard it over the waves and wind. "After he's hidden all his Horcruxes."

Harry shrugged. "Same thing he's been doing. Try to take over."

"But all his Death Eaters are dead. Most of them, anyway."

Harry remembered Godric's Hollow, and the cave, and said reluctantly, "I think he can find other creatures to help him."

"But he's been trying to influence politics, hasn't he?" James said. "With all the pureblood families… and the marriage law… He wants the Wizarding world to accept him. But who's going to support him if he's just a maniac with an army of dead people?"

Harry had considered this, too. He and Snape had talked about it when they had first planned out the Horcrux hunt. The Voldemort of their own world had always chosen to work in subtle ways – not to openly crush the Ministry, but to infiltrate it in secret; not to raze Hogwarts, but to twist it to his purposes. For all that Voldemort had wanted to destroy every good thing in the world, he had been determined to do it through the systems that had been in place long before his worthless mother ever set eyes on Tom Riddle, Sr. Absolute destruction had never been his first choice.

But now? Harry thought Riddle's tactics might change, and Snape did, too. Many of Voldemort's worst massacres had occurred in fits of rage, not as part of any plan. And if Voldemort thought he no longer stood a chance of winning by corrupting the systems that already existed – by using his pureblood Death Eater servants as spies and blackmailers and enforcers – then wouldn't he choose a different path?

Harry couldn't help thinking that if Voldemort really wanted to, he could wipe out half the country without breaking a sweat.

And what Voldemort really wanted wasn't to rule the Ministry, it was to rule the world. Would he really care if he achieved domination through less organized means? Or would the appeal of being accepted by wizarding society outweigh the appeal of winning outright? Would Voldemort be willing to sacrifice another decade to building his forces up again, or would he launch another attack like the one in Godric's Hollow?

Had Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and the Snapes actually helped in the time since Harry and Ron had rushed into this world, or had they just spurred Voldemort to greater heights of destruction?

"We just need to make sure he doesn't have time," Harry said quietly, as much to himself as to James. "If we can get to the Horcruxes and destroy them before he starts implementing his next plan –"

"But what if we can't? What do you think his next plan will be?"

Harry grimaced. He didn't want to say "kill everyone," but he was afraid that might be the truth. "Show off his strength, like Dumbledore said. Prove he hasn't been defeated."

"Kill people," James said, not fooled.

"Probably," Harry said. "Even without Death Eaters, I'm sure he could do a lot of damage. In Godric's Hollow Dumbledore kept him distracted. But what if Dumbledore weren't there?"

"He could burn villages to the ground," James said grimly.

"Or turn them all into Inferi."

"Or squash them all with giants. Do you reckon he has any more?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "But maybe not. There's not a lot of them left – just a couple dozen. And the others aren't going to be keen to join him after what happened to the ones in Godric's Hollow."

James nodded, falling silent. His expression was pained and angry, and Harry thought he was probably thinking about everyone he had lost in Godric's Hollow – his mum and dad especially, and Remus.

"I wish I could go back," James said suddenly. "You know, use a Time-Turner…"

Harry said quietly, "That's not how Time-Turners work."

"I know… It's just not fair!" James glared out at the ocean. "I keep thinking this is all a dream, that I'll wake up… You know those nightmares where you wake up and you're just so _relieved,_ because you know you didn't actually screw up as bad as you did in the dream, and you know you never will…"

"I know," Harry said.

"But it's not a dream. He actually came to my wedding and murdered my parents and one of my best friends and pretty much every other relative I have – except you – and my teachers and neighbors – and there's nothing I can do to make it _right._ I don't even feel like it's real. I can't grieve or anything, because it doesn't feel like it really happened. I'm just waiting to wake up the morning of my wedding. Every day I wake up and I expect it to be that day. That's when everything stopped."

Harry nodded. He had felt the same way after Sirius died, and then again, to a much greater extent, after the Battle of Hogwarts, when it had felt like half the people he knew were dead. The only thing that had grounded him then was the sense of freedom he had felt in knowing it was all over, a sense of freedom that he suspected went all the way down to his soul, where the last ruined piece of Voldemort's own soul had finally been dislodged and destroyed.

But James had no such feeling to ground him. Maybe if Sirius had been there to help he might have found some sense of stability, but Sirius was gone, locked away in Azkaban where he was no doubt experiencing an even worse disconnect from reality than James was.

Instead James was stuck here, unknowingly talking to his long-dead alternate self's son. Harry wasn't surprised he was having trouble adjusting.

"What about Lily?" he asked.

"Lily?"

"Does it… help… to be with her?"

James considered that for several long moments before saying flatly, "No."

Harry looked at him.

"I would have thought… I had thought we would be closer, after getting married," James said, grimacing. "But we're not. I don't know if it's because of the attack or the marriage law or what, but we're not… connected… the way we were before."

Harry thought about Ginny, and how everything that had happened to them had only seemed to bring them closer together, like there was a Linking Charm connecting them (or, as Harry had said to her in an uncharacteristic moment of romanticism, like they were magnets).

He was just about to ask James if he had talked about it with Lily (hesitant though he was to encourage anyone to talk about their feelings) when James added, "And I think she's still annoyed about the thing with Snape."

"Which one?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.

James snorted. "The big one. The prank in the Shrieking Shack. When I _saved_ him." He made a discontented noise. "But I did lie about it."

"To Lily?"

"'Course. Couldn't tell her the truth, could I?"

"Er," Harry said.

"Anyway, I think now she's afraid I've lied about other things."

"Er – have you?"

"No! I mean, I haven't told her _everything_ we ever did to Snape, but she hasn't asked, either."

"Didn't she know?" Harry asked, frowning. "I mean, didn't she see you hexing him and stuff? It sounds like you did that a lot, over the years."

"Yeah," James said indifferently. "But Snape fights dirty. I don't think she was too worried about it."

"Didn't she try to fight with him?"

"No," James said, sounding surprised. "Why would she?"

"They were friends."

"So?"

Harry gave him a look. "Wouldn't you fight with your friends if someone came after them like that?"

"Yeah, but my friends are blokes. You can't have girls sticking up for you."

Harry tried to imagine ever having that attitude about Hermione, and couldn't. She and Ron and he had always (well, after the troll, at least) done everything together. They had faced the same dangers, overcome the same enemies, won the same fights. It would have been incredibly weird if Hermione had ever decided not to help because she was a girl.

Because of the rules, maybe. But even then, looking back, some of their greatest rule-breaking had been her idea.

"That's stupid," he said to James. "Who cares if she's a girl, if she's his friend?"

James looked at him like he had grown an extra head. "Would _you_ want a girl sticking up for you?"

"I would want a _friend_ sticking up for me," he said. "Can you imagine being friends with someone who would just stand there and watch?"

James considered that, then grinned. "So maybe she was never really his friend."

"Maybe not," Harry said, but he wasn't grinning. It bothered him that his mum might have known how James was treating Snape the whole time and not done anything. Then again, when she _had_ tried to help, Snape had called her a "Mudblood," so maybe there was a reason. Maybe she had known Snape wouldn't respond well to having a girl rescue him. Maybe Snape was just as stupid about this as James.

Or maybe Snape had just been furious that Lily so obviously fancied the boy who was tormenting him.

The first time Harry had seen the memory of that day under the tree, he had thought his mum _despised_ James. But when he had watched it again, when he thought Snape was lying dead in the Shrieking Shack and he, Harry, was preparing himself for the final confrontation with Voldemort, he hadn't been so sure. Snape had obviously thought Lily fancied James long before that day, and Harry had the feeling Snape might have been right.

And if she had spent years looking the other way before that…

Harry scowled. Part of him wished he could see everything that had happened, so he could know exactly what to think, of all of them – not just his mum and dad, but Snape, Sirius, Remus, even Dumbledore. Even _Pettigrew._ If he could just understand, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to let go.

On the other hand, part of him felt like he knew too much already, and wished he could go back to thinking of his parents as the most perfect people in the world. That had been easy, when they had been dead. Now that he had his arrogant berk of a father sprawled out next to him, just beginning to snore, it was a little harder.

Discontentment rolled through him, a restless, unhappy energy that made him wish he could get up and pace. He knew he should have been happier. This was an opportunity he had wished for all his life, one that he could never have dreamed would come true. To know his parents, to spend time with them, not just in a dream or in a mirror, but in waking life? He should have been ecstatic.

So why did he feel so empty?

Was it because they weren't really his parents? Or was it because this was not, after all, what he had been longing for? He had envied Neville after Snape had brought back his parents' minds, had envied their instant connection, the home they quickly began to build, the fact that they were so very much his _parents._ Was that what Harry really wanted? A home? To be taken care of?

Not these annoying teenagers who, he couldn't help recognizing, were not nearly as good of people as his own best friends, Ron and Hermione.

It had been impossible, in the days since he had stepped into this world, not to wonder what would happen if he just kept going from world to world, looking for one in which he and his parents could be happy together, a family. But he was beginning to wonder if it was even possible. Even if he started when they were still in school, and won the war before they were old enough to think about it, would fixing their lives then give him what he needed now?

Or should he go home, back to Teddy and Ron and the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, to marry Ginny and finally let go of all these messy, hopeless dreams?

It should have been an easy answer, but it wasn't. He felt like he was back in the Department of Mysteries, watching all the doors spinning around him, each opening to a new mystery he could explore. Which one to choose?

The cold wind swept over the Cloak, and Harry shivered, feeling like all of James's warming charms had been blown away. The sky was bright with stars, but they felt cold and distant, unspeakably strange even though Harry recognized most of the constellations from Astronomy class. He was in another world, a world in which Ron and Teddy and Neville didn't even exist, a world in which he, Ginny, and Hermione only existed because they had broken all known laws of magic to come here. He felt very far from home.

James snorted in his sleep. Behind them, Harry could hear the trees rustling in the wind, an uneven shuffling sound that inexplicably made his skin crawl. Brushing the feeling aside, Harry wondered where Ron was in that moment, and if he would ever forgive Harry for leaving him behind. Harry had forgiven Ron for leaving _him,_ of course, but he had the feeling this might be different.

And yet he missed Ron, badly. He hadn't noticed it as much when he was with Ginny (it was always better to have Ron _not_ be around when he was with Ginny), but now that he was here with James, it was hard not to think about how much more comfortable he would feel if it were Ron and not his dad backing him up.

The shifting of the trees was growing louder, and Harry braced himself, expecting another blast of wind, but none came. He frowned, listening to the eerie sound without moving, unease growing in his stomach for reasons he couldn't explain. There was nothing strange about the wind in the trees –

Except that there were no trees.

Harry felt tears sting his eyes, not from the wind but from a shock of pure terror. The cliffs were barren, nothing but rock and sparse grass and lichen. There were no trees.

The shuffling grew closer.

He hardly dared look, but he had to see. Slowly, holding his breath, he turned his head to the side.

Out of the darkness, an Inferius was scraping its way toward him.

Harry gritted his teeth, praying the Invisibility Cloak wouldn't shift, praying James wouldn't suddenly wake up and make a sound. Harry could see, craning his neck, that there were more Inferi coming – many more. A shifting army seemed to be creeping out of the shadows.

What was worse, he could hear the wet drip of what he knew, without being able to say how, was blood.

These people had just been killed.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and shrink away, but the idea of an Inferius coming after him while his eyes were closed kept him frozen, watching the corpses twitch and shuffle their way past. By the looks of them, they were Muggles, most of them clad in pajamas, a few not wearing anything at all. And there were several – Harry didn't want to count how many – that were disturbingly small.

Beside him, James started to stir. Harry felt a flash of alarm as he heard James mumble something that sounded like "Snitch."

Moving as quickly as he could without shifting the Cloak, Harry pressed his hand over James's mouth. James was awake in an instant – Harry felt his gasp against his own palm – but to Harry's intense relief he didn't make a sound.

James's gaze flickered from Harry's face to the barely discernible shapes moving behind him, his eyes widening in alarm. Harry moved his hand away, and they both watched as the first of the Inferi reached the edge of the cliff.

Harry wondered what would happen if they fell over the edge. Would the fall kill them? Or would their crushed bodies keep moving, bound to Voldemort's will? The Inferi were balanced precariously at the edge, still twitching and jerking. Harry thought one strong blast of wind might have knocked them over, and wished it would.

Instead, they began to kneel, then to reach down with pale arms, then to pull themselves over the edge.

This must be what Voldemort had done to those Muggle children all those years ago.

One by one, the corpses crept over the cliff's edge. Harry could hear the scraping of loose rock, and knew they were crawling down the face of the cliff, toward the cave, where they would join the Inferi Voldemort had already assembled in the lake. It made his gut churn to think that he and James would soon be sailing over the dark water with these bloodstained bodies floating beneath them.

And if they realized he and James were here now, mere feet away…

Wind swept over the cliff, making the Inferi sway and carrying the stench of blood and other substances toward Harry and James, who flinched in unison. An Inferius passed within a foot of them, but never glanced their way, its pale eyes focused on the edge of the cliff. Harry didn't breathe until it had dragged itself over.

He glanced back again, wondering how many more Inferi were creeping toward them – surely the lake wasn't that big? – only to feel a cold shock of terror rush through him.

Voldemort was standing ten feet away, watching the Inferi haul themselves over the edge with a smile on his face.

Beside him, James tensed, and Harry reached out blindly to grip his arm, warning him not to do anything stupid. However tempting it might be to shove Voldemort over the cliff, it would accomplish nothing. Not until they destroyed the rest of his soul.

Silently, Voldemort stepped forward. His eyes, usually such a brilliant red, weren't even visible in the darkness, but Harry could see his pale face and his gaping, inhuman smile. This was Voldemort at his worst, when he was happy: with blood and death all around him, enslaved to his will. He pointed his wand at the last of the Inferi and they shuffled over the edge of the cliff, clinging to the rocks. Then, as they sank out of sight, he Disapparated.

Harry breathed again.

James nudged him, and they inched their way forward, making sure to wrap the Cloak as tightly around themselves as they could before peering over the edge of the cliff.

Dozens of Inferi clung to the rock, creeping downward like spiders. On the rocky outcrop below them, Harry could just see the pale gleam of Voldemort's face above the black of his robes.

In silence, they watched the Inferi descend. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up, and he felt James shudder more than once, whenever one of the Inferi made a particularly inhuman movement. The corpses gathered around Voldemort when they reached the bottom, motionless against the spray of the waves.

At a flick of Voldemort's wand, they sprang into the water. Harry saw a boat materialize in the waves, and Voldemort climbed into it, cutting through the turbulent spray and disappearing beneath the cliff.

"Merlin," James muttered.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak. His insides were still coiled and cold.

"So now what?" James asked.

Harry let out a long breath. "Now we wait until he leaves. Then we get the locket."


	46. Chapter 46

46

 _ **KREACHER.**_

Kreacher froze, rag in hand, halfway through polishing his mistress's silver. He had been listening for this command, and yet the sound of it, cold and cruel, made the hairs in his ears stand on end.

With a click of his fingers, he returned the silver to its case, then tucked the rag into his loincloth. Closing his eyes and allowing the pull of the strange, frightening voice to fill him, he Disapparated.

His first breath of air in the Dark Lord's presence was tinged with salt and old stone, a wet, dank, dark taste mingled with the sharp scent of blood. He was in a cave, dripping with seawater. In the distance, he could hear waves crashing, but his attention was immediately focused on the scratching and shuffling coming from a narrow, uneven passageway sloshing with water.

Kreacher could see corpses climbing out of that water. He knew at once that they were bound by magic that he had heard of in his mistress's stories, and more recently in the newspaper clippings Master Regulus had hung in his bedroom, but had never imagined seeing himself. Standing above them, taller than any of the Inferi and blending eerily into the darkness, was the Dark Lord.

Kreacher bowed. "The Dark Lord summoned Kreacher."

"I did." The same cold voice that had called him here echoed slightly in the wet cavern. The corpses didn't seem to hear it; they continued crawling out of the water, dragging their dripping carcasses across the stone until they stood, wet and dead, before a blank stone wall.

The Dark Lord did not speak to Kreacher again, nor did he take any further notice of him. Kreacher was both relieved and distressed. Relieved, because the Dark Lord's narrowed red eyes, ringed with the damage of some curse, were terrifying. Distressed, because Master Regulus had not been able to tell Kreacher what purpose the Dark Lord had for him, and Kreacher did not know how well he would be able to serve.

The Dark Lord's punishment for failure would be severe, he knew, but the shame of disgracing his family, the Great and Noble House of Black, would be far worse. Kreacher could not bear the thought of disappointing Master Regulus. Shivering with apprehension, he watched as the dead gathered in silent obedience to the Dark Lord, an obedience he shared, bound as surely as they were by magics greater than his comprehension.

When all his slaves stood before him, the Dark Lord smiled. "Kreacher," he said, and Kreacher stepped forward, trembling.

Without another word, the Dark Lord flicked his wand at Kreacher, and Kreacher felt his chest split open and watched a spray of blood splatter the stone wall. Kreacher gasped, but said nothing; Master Regulus had commanded him to obey, and if Master Regulus's master required Kreacher's blood, Kreacher would willingly give it.

Where his blood had spattered the stone, an archway had formed, a dark, gaping hole out of which a stench of dank decay emerged. The Dark Lord must have given some silent order to his corpses, because they began shuffling one by one through the archway, their wet hair hanging lank around their pale dead faces. Kreacher watched in silence, trying to ignore the pain of his open wound and the warmth of blood sliding down his chest. He could heal himself, but dared not; if the Dark Lord had not seen fit to relieve Kreacher's pain, then Kreacher would suffer.

At last, as the final Inferius dragged its naked, pitiful form through the archway, the Dark Lord turned to Kreacher.

"Come."

Kreacher followed, his ears lowered, trying not to cringe as he felt stone fill the archway behind him once more.

Before him, a silent black lake filled an enormous cavern, its water dark with magic and filled, Kreacher knew immediately, with more corpses. The newest Inferi had arranged themselves around the edge of the lake and were waiting motionlessly for a new command.

With another flick of his wand, the Dark Lord gave it. The corpses waded into the water with twitchy, jerking movements, the splashes of their movements unnaturally small and quiet, the lake seemingly eager to welcome them into its depths. Kreacher felt a horrible unease fill him, an aversion to this place that had nothing to do with the dead bodies. As their sightless heads dipped beneath the black water, he found himself wishing they had not left.

Now he was alone with the Dark Lord.

"Come," the Dark Lord ordered again, moving with cool purpose around the edge of the lake as Kreacher scrambled and stumbled over the stones behind him. Abruptly, the Dark Lord halted, reaching out into thin air for a chain Kreacher could sense but not see. With a tap of his wand, the Dark Lord rendered the chain visible, and Kreacher watched as a small boat rose with unnatural quiet from the lake.

"In."

Kreacher obeyed, trying to ignore the drip of his blood into the black water, and the way the water seemed to shiver and swallow it. The Dark Lord stepped gracefully into the boat, and without warning, the vessel began to move. Kreacher shifted unsteadily in place, though the boat glided over the water with eerie stillness. To sit in the Dark Lord's presence was out of the question, but Kreacher did not like the sensation of movement beneath him, however faint. He could not turn his back on the Dark Lord, and so he could not turn to face wherever the boat was taking them. Yet he could feel something dark and powerful, an enchanted place to which they drew closer and closer, a place that filled him with dread.

When the boat scraped against rocks, Kreacher nearly fell over. The Dark Lord gave him a mocking smile.

"You serve your master well," he said.

Kreacher bowed at the praise, blood dripping from the cut over his heart. "Kreacher is honored to serve."

"Even unto death?"

Kreacher's ear twitched. "Kreacher will be honored to die in service of his master."

"And am I your master?"

"Master Regulus has commanded Kreacher to obey the Dark Lord as a master."

"And if I command you to die?"

"Kreacher will die."

The Dark Lord's smile grew. "Out," he ordered.

Kreacher turned at the Dark Lord's command and saw that the boat had drawn them to an island, dark and empty save for a pedestal on which a basin rested. Climbing out of the boat, Kreacher glanced from the Dark Lord to the basin, wondering what was inside.

Yet it seemed that nothing was inside, for the Dark Lord drew a vial of glowing green from his robes, unstoppered it, and poured it into the basin. Immediately, the green glow rose up into the darkness, suffusing the air with a dangerous glint. The Dark Lord blinked, narrowing his eyes to slits, and Kreacher saw more clearly than ever the damage that had been done to his face.

"And now," the Dark Lord murmured, as if to himself, "to test it."

For several moments, he did not speak, weaving enchantments over the basin while Kreacher stood cold and silent beside him. Then, with a satisfied smile, the Dark Lord conjured a goblet out of thin air.

"You, elf, will be the final test." The Dark Lord waved his wand, and a rock jutted up from the ground like a step just beneath the pedestal. He handed Kreacher the goblet. "Drink."

Kreacher accepted the goblet. "Kreacher will obey."

He climbed onto the rock, and gazed down into the potion. Though the vial had been small, the entire basin seemed filled with liquid. Kreacher, bound by his orders, did not have time to examine the potion or wonder at its contents. He dipped the goblet into the potion, and drank.

* * *

"Master."

Regulus shifted in his sleep, his dream of the Dark Lord's cave and Bellatrix's eerie purple light suddenly transforming into a vision of Kreacher reaching out to him from the darkness.

"Massster…"

Regulus twitched. Something was wrong. Kreacher was unhappy. Regulus struggled against the dream, but the voice persisted, a hollow plea: " _Master…_ "

Then he heard a broken sob, and woke up.

For several seconds, he could not remember where he was. Then the familiar emerald hangings of his bed at Hogwarts came into view, illuminated from without by the fire burning in the hearth, a fire that was always kept bright and warm in the winter, when the dungeons were so intolerably cold.

Silhouetted against the emerald hangings was a familiar shape. " _Master._ "

"Kreacher?" he asked in a whisper, too confused to be alarmed.

The hangings shifted, and Kreacher crept around the edge.

Regulus sat up, decidedly alarmed. Kreacher was soaking wet, bleeding from a cut across his chest and several rough-looking scratches, his elf skin pale and clammy, his eyes unfocused.

"Master?" he croaked weakly.

"Kreacher," Regulus breathed. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Kreacher blinked at him, and Regulus realized that, though Kreacher was soaked head to toe, his face was also wet with tears.

A terrible foreboding filled him, stretched with guilt so terrible he couldn't bring himself to speak for several seconds.

"Kreacher," he managed finally. "Did the Dark Lord summon you?"

Kreacher's eyes blurred with tears. "Kreacher obeyed."

Regulus stared at him in dismay, then quickly reached for his wand. Kreacher eyed it warily, but didn't move.

With a quick sweep of his wand, Regulus cast privacy charms all around his bed. He could not be certain his dorm mates hadn't already heard, but he thought it unlikely. Elves were quiet creatures, and Regulus had spoken in no more than a whisper.

Satisfied with his wards, and more anxious than he could express, he said, "Climb up, Kreacher."

Kreacher looked puzzled by this order, but, unable to do anything but obey, climbed up on the heavy blankets and stood unsteadily on the mattress.

"You can sit," Regulus said hastily. His mother would have fainted at such impropriety, but in the moment he couldn't be bothered to care.

Kreacher blinked, looking more weary than surprised, then sank down onto the blankets like a wet, wilting plant.

Though Regulus wanted badly to know what had happened, the sight of Kreacher's seeping wounds forced him to restrain himself. He had never tried to heal the elf before – though Kreacher had punished himself at times, it had always been understood that such wounds were not to be healed. But this was different. Raising his wand, Regulus cast a healing spell over the cut on Kreacher's chest.

Nothing happened.

Regulus frowned, disturbed. He tried another healing spell, to no effect. Was it because Kreacher was an elf, or was it something more sinister?

Kreacher, trembling, whispered, "Kreacher can heal himself."

Regulus met the elf's gaze. "Heal yourself, Kreacher."

The cut disappeared instantly. The scratches remained, and Kreacher shivered, closing his eyes against tears, rocking backward and forward. Nearly a minute passed before the scratches began to fade.

Regulus couldn't understand why the scratches would be so difficult for Kreacher to heal. They didn't look like hex marks; if anything, they looked like they had been caused by human fingernails. A simple spell should have mended them…

Unless…

A chill swept over Regulus, and he asked again, urgently, "Kreacher, what happened?"

Kreacher gulped, shivering again. In fact, Regulus thought his tremors were becoming worse, as if he were shaking not just from fear but from some injury Regulus couldn't see. The elf was still very pale.

"The Dark Lord summoned Kreacher," Kreacher croaked. "Kreacher answered his summons, as Master Regulus wanted. When Kreacher Apparated to the Dark Lord's side, he was in a cave by the sea. Kreacher was not the only servant there. There were dead bodies answering the Dark Lord's call –"

"Inferi?" Regulus asked, his worst fears confirmed.

Kreacher nodded. "The Dark Lord cut Kreacher and used his blood to open a hole in the wall of the cave. He sent the Inferi through the hole and brought Kreacher after them into another cave, a larger cave. It was filled with a dark lake full of Inferi. The new Inferi joined the others under the water. Then the Dark Lord summoned a boat and took Kreacher to an island."

The elf took a shuddering breath. Regulus listened in silence, baffled. A cave? An island? A lake of Inferi? This was not the cavern in the mountains where the Dark Lord had taken up residence. This was something else, something the Dark Lord had never spoken of. A secret.

Regulus should have commanded Kreacher to stop speaking, but something held him back.

"When the boat arrived at the island, the Dark Lord asked Kreacher if he would die in the Dark Lord's service."

A flash of sudden fury struck Regulus, wholly unexpected. The Dark Lord had asked him for Kreacher's help. He had given Kreacher freely. He was, after all, the Dark Lord's servant, and his servants were the Dark Lord's to use as he would.

And yet, against his will, he felt shocked, outraged. The Dark Lord had said he needed help. He had said nothing of any intention to murder Kreacher.

How _dare_ he?

Regulus tried to suppress the treasonous thought, but it clung to him. Kreacher – his Kreacher – his dearest companion since childhood – how _dare_ the Dark Lord harm him?

Kreacher's voice, already weaker than usual, lowered to a faint murmur. "Kreacher said he would die. Kreacher serves Master Regulus, and Master Regulus serves the Dark Lord. Kreacher did not want to disappoint his master."

He said it tonelessly, with no hint of betrayal or accusation, but Regulus flushed with shame.

Kreacher, staring at nothing, didn't seem to notice. "The Dark Lord poured a potion into a basin and said Kreacher would be the final test. He ordered Kreacher to drink it."

"What was it?" Regulus asked, disturbed. Kreacher's pallor, his shaking, had not abated with his other injuries, and Regulus was seized with the fear that the elf had been poisoned.

Kreacher shuddered. "The potion made Kreacher see… things… terrible things."

"What things?" Regulus demanded.

Kreacher shut his eyes, rocking backward and forward again, his face twisted in some anguished memory. "Kreacher saw his mistress die. He saw Master Regulus die. He tried to save them, but every time he drank another goblet of the potion, they only died in more terrible ways, and Kreacher couldn't save them." He sniffled, tears streaking down his face. "Kreacher could not protect Master Regulus. Master Regulus was suffering, and Kreacher could do nothing!"

Impulsively, and quite against his upbringing, Regulus reached out and gripped Kreacher's hands in his own. "I'm safe, Kreacher, it's all right. It wasn't real."

"Kreacher thought it was real," Kreacher said, his voice ragged, his breath coming more quickly. "Kreacher couldn't remember the potion. Kreacher knew he had an order to obey, but he could not remember to drink. Then the Dark Lord filled the goblet and gave Kreacher more. Kreacher… Kreacher tried to fight him… Kreacher begged him to stop… Kreacher brought shame on his family! Kreacher disobeyed!"

He tried to lunge for the nearest bedpost, but Regulus still had hold of his hands and commanded sharply, "Stop! I forbid you to punish yourself!"

Kreacher fell limp onto the blankets, breathing heavily and choking on the occasional sob.

"Kreacher," Regulus said, his heart wrenched with guilt. "Kreacher, it wasn't your fault. The potion made you forget. Of course you didn't want to drink it."

"Kreacher disobeyed orders."

"If I had been there, I would have ordered you to disobey," Regulus said fiercely. He flinched as soon as the words had left his mouth – what was he saying? That he would have defied the Dark Lord? Surely the Dark Lord had had some purpose – it must have been necessary – but Kreacher –

Kreacher blinked up at him, calming. "After Kreacher had drunk all the potion, the Dark Lord drew a locket from his robes and placed it in the basin. Then he took another vial of the potion and filled the basin again. He left…" The elf drew in a rough breath. "Kreacher was alone. Kreacher was thirsty. Kreacher knew Master Regulus had ordered him to return, but Kreacher couldn't think of anything but his thirst. Kreacher went to the lake…"

He shivered, closing his eyes again.

"The Inferi…" Regulus murmured.

Kreacher nodded. "They pulled Kreacher into the lake… Kreacher tried to resist, but they were too strong… and Kreacher couldn't breathe…" He gulped for air, as if remembering. "But Master Regulus had ordered Kreacher to return, and Kreacher could not let the Inferi kill him. Kreacher had to Disapparate." His hands gripped Regulus's tightly. "Kreacher remembered Master Regulus, and came to find him. Kreacher disobeyed the Dark Lord. Kreacher didn't die."

"Good," Regulus said quickly. "Kreacher, you – you did well –" He stopped, appalled, torn with guilt at the state of the elf in front of him and guilt at the treachery of his own words. His lord trusted him – but so did Kreacher.

Kreacher, who had as good as raised him. Kreacher, who had tended him when he was ill and comforted him when he was sad. Kreacher, who idolized Regulus above all others.

Kreacher, who had nearly died trying not to disappoint him.

Regulus's eyes burned. He tried to resist the feeling, to resist the defiant fury building inside him, but though he didn't dare speak the words aloud, he knew that the thought racing through his mind was true.

 _I would never have sent you there if I had known what he was going to do._

He was a traitor. He was no better than Snape. His lord had demanded his loyalty and service, and yet all he could think of in that moment was how he could keep Kreacher safe from him, and how far he would be willing to go to do so.

Treachery. Torture. Death.

If he had been there when the Dark Lord had forced Kreacher to drink the potion, what would he have done? Would he really have stood by and done nothing while the dear, helpless, trusting elf had poisoned himself?

The very thought made his stomach turn with horror.

And yet to defy the Dark Lord – it was impossible. He would die. Everyone he loved would die.

"Kreacher is sorry," Kreacher sniffled.

Regulus said nothing. He was afraid of what he might say in that moment, afraid of what treasonous words might cross his lips. All reason and sense of duty seemed to have left him. He wanted to reach out and embrace the elf, but he well remembered how Kreacher had chastised him the one and only time he had ever done so, when he was only four. It was one of his earliest memories – Kreacher explaining that they were not equals, and that Master Regulus should not debase himself by embracing an elf.

He felt another surge of fury at this injustice, wanting badly to hug the little creature. It was unlike him to feel anything outside the bounds of propriety and duty, and yet he couldn't shake the urge. Kreacher was fragile and hurt, blaming himself for Regulus's mistake. It was Regulus who had entrusted Kreacher to the Dark Lord, Regulus who had failed in his most basic and heartfelt duty, to protect those he cared for.

He had failed, and Kreacher was suffering.

Regulus was worried about the potion. He didn't think it was meant to be deadly – otherwise, what need was there of Inferi? – but neither did he know how such a potion would affect a house-elf, or how it could be cured. It seemed likely, from his failed attempt to heal Kreacher, that wizarding magic and elven magic did not mix, and that Regulus's healing spells would not heal an elf. And even if they could – he had no idea what potion had been used, or if its effects could be reversed. For all he knew, the Dark Lord had invented the potion himself.

Regulus doubted whether anyone, even Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, could do anything for Kreacher. He certainly didn't think Professor Kettleburn had experience with magical creatures that had been poisoned by the Dark Lord's own potions.

Which left Regulus to watch helplessly, wondering if Kreacher might still die.

He should have said no. He should have asked the Dark Lord what he intended, why he needed an elf. And why had he needed an elf? To protect a locket? It was a Dark object, perhaps, a precious object the Dark Lord needed to protect. But why guard it with such protections?

And why use Kreacher, an innocent?

And why, _why,_ had Regulus not asked what the Dark Lord would use Kreacher for?

He knew, of course, that he could not have refused such a request. Even if the Dark Lord had not been in his present state of instability, he would have murdered Regulus on the spot for such disloyalty. But Regulus knew, as well, that he would have found some way to protect Kreacher, no matter what, if only he had known.

He would _never_ have allowed the Dark Lord to harm him.

Snape's words flooded through his mind again. _Voldemort is a pitiful waste of a human being…_

Regulus shied from the thought, and yet he could not dismiss it. What greatness was there, after all, in abusing a house-elf? It was low. It was unworthy. It was disgusting. Regulus had watched Sirius play his cruel pranks on Kreacher throughout his childhood and adolescence, and had been powerless to stop him, though nothing could have sunk his opinion of his brother more. But this was worse. This was so utterly indefensible that Regulus could hardly reconcile what the Dark Lord had done with what Regulus had believed a wizard of his greatness would do.

The Dark Lord had murdered innocents, Regulus knew. But all in pursuit of a greater execution of justice – the elevation of wizardkind, the end of their oppression at the hands of Muggle-lovers, the beginning of a new era, one in which Muggles could not burn or drown or hang wizards with impunity, but would themselves be sentenced to death for daring to set themselves against beings of magic.

Of course, sacrifices had to be made. Regulus could understand that, if they were reasonable. Every war required such sacrifice. Yet the Dark Lord's sacrifices, of late, had been anything but reasonable. Regulus had already questioned the necessity of spilling so much innocent magical blood at the Potters' wedding. But to see Kreacher like this, crying and punishing himself because he had not meekly submitted to the Dark Lord's torture, was sickening.

What had Kreacher ever done but serve faithfully? How could the Dark Lord use and discard him the way he used and discarded the bodies of the dead? Kreacher was dearer to Regulus than anyone but his mother. Was the Dark Lord so incapable of feeling that he could not recognize such a bond?

Was a wizard so incapable of feeling really worthy of ruling over wizards and Muggles, of shaping their world?

Regulus imagined it for an instant, Lord Voldemort as the absolute and unconquerable ruler of all. He imagined the cruelty and caprice, the torture and rage. He imagined those he loved flung away in an instant, abused and killed in service to the Dark Lord's selfish whims. He imagined the utter tyranny and darkness that would cover the world. He imagined the end of all love, all family, all hope.

He imagined himself, a blind orchestrator of it all. A murderer, a destroyer, a coward, subject to the temper tantrums of a maniacal dictator, alone in the world because he had given the Dark Lord leave to obliterate everything he held dear.

Regulus couldn't have explained why it was Kreacher's pain, and not the pain of dozens of witches and wizards, that impressed this truth upon him so sharply. He shied away from it, but it overcame him, inexorable, and his admiration of the Dark Lord, his hope, his loyalty, all shone before his eyes, futile and corrupt, before he felt their irreparable severance.

Snape had been right. The Dark Lord was a coward, unworthy to lead them. He was inhuman, unwanted, and unloved. He was not the bringer of all those things Regulus had dreamed of, but their destroyer, a selfish monster.

He was an enemy.

Regulus felt fear slither down his spine as the conviction took hold. Even now, hundreds of miles away, he suffered a moment's terror that the Dark Lord would see the betrayal in Regulus's mind, that he would feel his treachery through the Mark.

And the Mark, which Regulus had always carried with such honor… He rolled up his sleeve and stared at it, an ugly stain on his arm. How could he have consented to this?

How could he have ordered Kreacher to serve such a man?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing Kreacher's hands. "I'm so sorry I didn't see."

Kreacher gazed at him with wide eyes. "Master Regulus should not apologize to Kreacher."

"But I should," Regulus said, teeth gritted. "I should have asked what he wanted with you, I should have protected you!"

"It is not Master Regulus's duty to protect Kreacher. Kreacher must protect Master Regulus."

Regulus drew a deep breath, fighting a knot in his throat. "Kreacher… You belong to my family, and it _is_ our duty to protect you. But more than that – I would never want you to be hurt. You are my…" He struggled for a moment, knowing that "friend" was not accurate. "You matter to me," he said finally. "I would fight to keep you safe."

Kreacher's eyes filled with tears again. "Master Regulus is too good. Kreacher does not deserve Master Regulus's protection. Kreacher failed –"

"No," Regulus said. "You didn't fail. You survived, Kreacher. That's what I would have wanted you to do. You came back to me – you came home."

This was not strictly true, as they were currently in the Slytherin dorms, but Kreacher nodded anyway, sniffling. "Kreacher will always come back to Master Regulus."

Regulus felt tears sting his eyes. "This should never have happened to you."

Watching Regulus's face, Kreacher seemed to sense some of the turmoil in his heart. A spasm of fear crossed the elf's face. "What will Master Regulus do?"

That cold shiver ran down Regulus's spine again, as though a ghost were standing behind him, waiting to call him through the veil. But the truth, that Voldemort was waiting for him, was far worse. "I don't know."


	47. Chapter 47

47

In the wake of the Inferi's descent, the cliff was dark and still. A creeping shadow seemed to cling to it, drenched with the stain of evil magic, bleeding into the night and into the sea. The crash of the waves had become an ominous booming, the hiss of the wind a seething warning. In the deepest pits within the cliff, a fierce malice had awoken.

In silence, Harry and James huddled beneath the Cloak, feeling the Dark magic rise from somewhere far beneath them to defile everything about this place. The rocks, the stunted grass, the air they breathed, all felt corrupted. Sleep was impossible; setting aside the lingering fear of Inferi wrapping dead, decaying hands around their throats while they slept, the tension in the air had stricken them both with a jolt of alarm that kept them wide awake, no matter how slowly the hours passed.

Dawn was creeping across the horizon behind them when James finally spoke. Though the sea still stretched out in shadow before them, glints of pale light had begun to catch the tips of the waves in the distance, and only a few pale stars remained in the indigo sky. It might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought some of the ferocity of the hidden Dark magic had begun to wane.

"Reckon he's still down there?" James whispered.

Harry had been wondering the same thing. He had no idea how long it would take Voldemort to set the final enchantments on the cave. Had Voldemort tested the potion on Kreacher, as he had in Harry's reality? Or had he found some other victim? Harry felt certain Voldemort would not have entrusted his Horcrux to the potion without testing its effects first.

"I dunno," he told James. "Let's wait another –"

" _Shh!_ "

Harry fell silent, ducking down despite the fact that he was under the Cloak. The prow of a small boat had just appeared from under the cliff. It slid smoothly forward, nearly indiscernible in the shadow of the cliff, but Voldemort's pale scalp was unmistakable.

Voldemort climbed from the boat onto the rocky outcropping, and Harry watched as the boat vanished beneath the waves. For several seconds, Voldemort stood motionless on the rocks, perhaps, Harry thought bitterly, savoring whatever torment he had just inflicted in the name of protecting his shattered soul.

Then, with no sound that Harry could hear, he Disapparated.

"Finally," James muttered. "Ready?"

Harry nodded, ducking out from beneath the Cloak to stand and stretch. His stomach was twisted in knots, but he was relieved, as well: relieved that this would all be over soon.

They didn't speak as they packed up the meager supplies they had brought with them and Apparated down to the rock. The shadow of the cliff loomed over them, and Harry tried not to remember the way the Inferi had crept their way down. James Conjured a boat as he had before, and they clambered into it, throwing the Cloak over themselves again and glancing around nervously.

"You don't think he'll come back?" James asked.

"No," Harry said with certainty. He doubted whether Voldemort had visited any of his Horcruxes after hiding them – not until he had known they were in danger. He was not a sentimental man.

Their boat bounced and slid over the water with much less grace than Voldemort's had done. With each lurch of his stomach, Harry found himself thinking of how soon he would be swallowing the potion, and wondering grimly what it would do to him. James, focused on navigating the waves and directing their boat into the cleft beneath the cliff, seemed alive and focused, happier than he had been in days. The prospect of _doing_ something had obviously had an enormous effect, no matter what lay ahead.

Harry tried to allow some of James's enthusiasm to lighten his own mood, but without much success.

As the walls of the passageway closed around them and the narrow channel carried them forward, Harry felt his heart speed up, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. It was one thing to know what was waiting for him; it was another to have watched the Inferi creeping toward the cave, and to see the blank, bloodthirsty wall rising out of the water ahead of him.

They climbed out of the boat, trying not to notice the scraps of torn cloth and, unless Harry was much mistaken (which he hoped he was), skin that trailed from the water to the stone wall. The Inferi had evidently taken a beating in the waves, and the traces remained.

"My turn," James said, flicking his wand across the back of his left hand and spattering the wall with blood.

The stone within the arch vanished.

The smell of dank rock and perhaps of decay coiled in the shadows as they stepped through the arch. The lake was as still and dark as ever, but the eerie green glow on the island waited soundlessly in its midst.

James pointed at it, a question in his eyes. Harry nodded, but jerked his head to the right. "The boat is this way."

Carefully, they picked their way around the edge of the lake. The rocks were slimy, reeking of unknown things and glinting evilly in the green light. Much more than the last time Harry had walked this way, he sensed the dark presence in the water, and recoiled on a visceral level from the idea of touching it.

He wasn't totally confident in his ability to find Voldemort's boat, but once he had made it to roughly the right spot, he started casting Revealing Charms every couple of steps. Finally, the air shivered, and the chain appeared.

"He's so bloody dramatic," James whispered.

Harry snorted, watching the creepy boat rise up from the lake with its disturbingly soft splashes. Keeping hold of his wand, he climbed in.

James moved to follow, but the moment he set foot in the boat, something surged out of the water deep in the lake only to vanish beneath the surface again.

"What was that?" James asked, recoiling, though they both knew very well what it was.

Harry frowned at the ripples, which were already disappearing. Why had the Inferi stirred? When he had come to the cave with Dumbledore, only the Summoning Charm had awoken them… at least, until Harry had tried to fill the goblet to quench Dumbledore's thirst.

Harry racked his brain. Had he forgotten something? Or had something changed?

James, standing on the lake's shore again, looking intensely reluctant to set foot in the boat again. "You sure about this, Peverell?"

"Yeah," Harry said, though he felt much less sure than he had a moment ago. "Just remember - they're afraid of fire."

A muscle in James's jaw clenched, but he nodded, climbing into the boat. Immediately, something splashed again, this time closer.

"I think they know we're not him," James said.

"Yeah," Harry said, frowning. He was starting to feel like he _was_ forgetting something. This hadn't happened when he had come here with Dumbledore.

It wasn't until the boat had started moving, wholly of its own accord, that Harry remembered.

"No!" he cried out, alarmed. "Go back - make it go back!"

"What?" James asked, alarmed. He tapped the edge of the boat with his wand. " _Reverto! Reverto!_ It's not working! Harry, what's - ARGH!"

A white, slimy hand had shot out of the lake and gripped hold of the side of the boat. Before Harry could even begin to raise his wand, another grabbed hold of the other side, wrenching the boat toward it and forcing both Harry and James to clutch the edge of the boat. A third hand reached up and grabbed Harry's wrist.

" _Incendio!_ " he yelled, and it slid back into the water in a burst of orange flame.

" _Incendio!_ " James shouted, and another flash of fire drove back the Inferius nearest him, but there were more, many more, gripping the edge of the boat, shaking it, tipping it.

"NO! _Incendio! INCENDIO!"_

" _Incendi-GAHH! GET OFF!"_

An Inferius had grabbed Harry's sleeve and dragged half his arm under water. Harry tried to shoot fire at it, but the flames vanished on the water's surface, while beneath the churning and splashing the Inferius's grip was unbreakable.

"GET - OFF - _RELASHIO!_ " He yanked his arm out of the water as the Inferius let go. "James - we need more fire - something bigger -"

"What we need is a _bloody broomstick!_ " James snarled. " _Incendio! CREMITO!"_

A blast of white fire burst from James's wand, and the two Inferi nearest him exploded into ash.

"Brilliant!" Harry yelled. " _CREMITO! CREMITO!"_

Inferi exploded left and right. The boat was jerking in every direction, nearly unseating Harry as he tried desperately to aim. It might have been easier if the faces of the poor dead Muggles weren't gleaming so clearly in the white, flashing lights of the spell. He didn't remember it being like this last time - they had all been pale, dead, indistinguishable - but now, perhaps because they had so recently been alive, he could pick out all of their features, the freckles and bruises, the crooked noses and pierced ears, a pair of glasses hanging from a cord around an old man's neck, a mouthful of missing teeth in a child's face -

" _CREMITO!"_ he cried, hating himself as he watched the child's corpse dissolve into the waves. The writhing water was thick with ash, and the boat, still rocking wildly, was full of a wet gray sludge that Harry tried not to contemplate as he and James continued incinerating the Inferi. James's spell worked even under water - when Harry aimed at the eerie pale mass of limbs that was clawing its way up from the depths, he saw them dissolve in a rush of ash and bubbles. James, firing off the curse again and again, was covered in ash, but beneath his panicked violence Harry could see a shadow of something else - a fury that was so wild it almost looked like glee.

" _CREMITO! CREMITO!"_ James wheeled around eagerly, actually laughing as he searched for other Inferi. " _CREMITO!_ Is that the last of them?" He sounded almost disappointed.

Breathing hard, Harry looked around. "I think so," he said, warily eyeing both James and the ash-clogged lake around them. "I'm - sorry - about that -" He coughed, then swallowed hard, hoping the dryness in his throat wasn't ash.

"Sorry?" James said, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "D'you know how many Inferi we just killed?"

"We didn't really kill them," Harry said flatly, thinking of the Inferi children he had just obliterated. "They were already dead."

James waved that away, breathless. "Blimey, Peverell. What a fight!"

Harry said nothing. James was regarding the gray-stained lake with an elation that reminded Harry of the look Sirius had sometimes got in his eye, like life was all a game. It was the look Sirius had worn in the instant he died.

"I guess they were meant to attack anyone other than Voldemort," James said, ignoring the way the lake shivered at its master's name. "Didn't do much in the end, did it?"

Harry shook his head. "The boat can only hold one adult wizard at a time," he said. "That's why they attacked. I should've remembered."

James shrugged, then coughed as ash drifted off his shoulders. "Oh, ugh - _Scourgify."_

James cast a few cleaning charms, seeming disgusted but not particularly disturbed by the human ash coating them both. Harry, on the other hand, was shaking, the images of the exploding corpses still playing before his eyes. He cleaned himself up as best he could, but the sludge at the bottom of the boat didn't seem willing to move. Wrinkling his nose, James tapped the boat with his wand, and it begrudgingly moved forward.

Harry braced himself, expecting some other defense to rise up from the lake and attack them, but evidently Voldemort hadn't considered the possibility that his Inferi might be reduced to ash. Though the boat was obviously reluctant to carry them through the ash-choked waters, no further obstacle presented itself.

Just the potion.

The boat scraped against the edge of the island with a hideous scratching sound, and Harry and James climbed out. The pedestal with its basin was smaller than Harry remembered it being, and yet there were still at least a dozen gobletfuls of potion inside.

"What's that?" James asked.

"It's supposed to protect the Horcrux," Harry said. In the green glow of the potion, James's eyes looked more like his own than they ever had before. It was like looking in a mirror - only the reflection was much wilder than his own. "You're going to have to make me drink it."

"What?" James gaped at him. "Are you mad?"

Harry shook his head, caught between fear and a deep weariness. "It's the only way."

"But -"

"Trust me, James. If there were another way, any other way, I would never even suggest this."

James frowned at him, then at the potion. "What does it do?"

"I'm not completely sure. It'll make me hallucinate, I think - make me see horrible things." He shrugged, not willing to dwell on it just now. "It'll definitely make me forget that I'm supposed to be drinking it, so after the first couple of gobletfuls you'll have to take over."

"And _make_ you drink it?" James looked disgusted. "Why can't I drink it?"

"Because you're better at magic than I am," Harry said firmly. It was the excuse he had thought most likely to be accepted. What was more, it was true. "Once we get the Horcrux, there might be other defenses - things that'll try to stop us from leaving the cave. I'm not going to be in any condition to fight, so you're going to have to get me and the Horcrux out of here safely."

James looked ready to argue, but evidently he saw the sense in what Harry was saying, because no retort was forthcoming. Finally he scowled. "Why didn't you just bring Snape along?"

"Snape?"

"I'd've been happy to force-feed him the potion."

Harry suppressed a sigh. "It won't kill me," he said, hoping that was true. Snape - his world's Snape - would be waiting to examine him when they got back to the tent, and that was going to have to be good enough. Harry hadn't told him the full details of what he intended to do, or of what was waiting in the cave, but he had warned Snape that he might need help. That was about as good as it got, in terms of guarantees of staying alive.

"Oh," he added, "and it'll make me thirsty. You won't be able to Conjure any water for me, but do _not_ give me water from the lake." Even with the Inferi gone, the idea of drinking from the water made his skin crawl. Especially now that it was thick with ash.

James was apparently thinking the same thing. "I don't hate you _that_ much, Peverell. Maybe," he added with a pointed look, "if it were Snape…"

"Snape's not here," Harry said. "And I wouldn't put him through that, anyway. Can you just Conjure a goblet? I want to get this over with."

"All right," James said, flourishing his wand and presenting Harry with an unnecessarily ostentatious goblet.

"Whatever you do," Harry said, "don't stop giving me the potion. I'll probably beg you to stop, but you have to finish it. We need that Horcrux."

"We can't just cast Fiendfyre?"

Harry snorted. "And risk bringing the whole cliff down on top of us?"

James scowled, but nodded. "All right, Peverell. You're sure it's not poison?"

"I'm sure," Harry lied. "It'll just make me hallucinate. Once we get out of here, take me back to the tent and S- and Prince will help me out."

James made a face, but stood back as Harry dipped the goblet into the nastily glowing potion. Taking a deep breath, Harry began to drink.

* * *

James shifted impatiently as Peverell swallowed the first gobletful of potion. The boy was odd - on the one hand, too serious and thoughtful to enjoy a good prank (or a good fight), or even the retelling of one, but on the other, reckless and daring enough to invade a cave full of Inferi and down an unknown potion with a nonchalance that James couldn't help but envy.

He was, James thought, a mix of Padfoot and Moony - of Padfoot's best traits, his bravery and daring, and Moony's worst, his stuffiness and unceasing disapproval of fun. It was painful to see them in him, but a relief, too - a relief to remember them everywhere he looked, to know that they were still with him, even if Padfoot was in prison (where, if James was honest, they had always expected him to end up at some point or other), and Moony was, well, gone.

Of course, James still didn't think of Moony as being gone. He didn't think of any of them as being gone.

Peverell, eyes shut, shuddered, then gasped for breath.

"Peverell? Harry? Still with me?"

"Yeah," Harry said, keeping his eyes shut. "Nothing's happening, it's just - cold - like the Dementors -" He seemed to shake himself, opening his eyes and dipping the goblet into the potion again. "Cheers," he said, gulping it down.

A pained moan escaped him, but he shook it away, muttering, "Not real. Not…" He shuddered again, reaching out for the basin blindly, dipping the goblet in and only managing to get it half full.

He gave the goblet a long, hopeless look before tipping it into his mouth. Immediately, he moaned again, whispering, "No… No, stop it, _stop it…_ Leave them alone…"

"Peverell?"

"Get away… _Step aside, girl!_ … No, don't, don't!"

James recoiled, disturbed. For a moment, Peverell's voice had changed, becoming high and cold, and distinctly Voldemortish. "Harry?"

Harry whimpered, sliding down onto the rocks.

James was loath to fill the goblet and contribute to this horror show, but he figured the sooner it was over, the sooner they could get the locket and get out of here - to help, hopefully, if Snape's worthless-looking uncle could actually help.

Scooping up another dose of the potion, James brought it to Peverell's mouth and said, "Open up, Harry."

"Mum?" the boy whispered.

James tipped the potion into his half-open mouth, and Peverell swallowed obediently, then grimaced and cried out. "Mum - no - _please,_ don't hurt her, hurt me instead!"

This was not the kind of thing James wanted to be hearing. With his eyes closed, the boy looked just like him, and James was struck with the memory of his own mother, dead -

He didn't want to think of her as dead -

Gritting his teeth, he shoved the goblet back into the basin and drew it out dripping with potion. "Come on, Harry," he said. "Drink."

"I don't want to," the boy mumbled.

"Harry -"

"Don't make me, Dad."

James started, then shook himself, pressing the goblet against the boy's mouth. "Come on, Harry, open up."

Obediently, the boy drank the potion. James tried not to notice the tears gathering at the corners of his closed eyes, but the boy's pitiful wail was impossible to ignore.

"Please! _Please!_ Dad! Dad, don't let him - Dad, where are you?"

Another goblet, another cry. "Please… please, Dad…"

James hated this. He was not used to hearing anyone beg, and hearing it from a face so like his own, streaked with tears and ash, was severely unnerving. "It's all right, Harry," he said. "Just - just a little more, all right? It's not real."

"Please," the boy whispered.

As James was trying to force another gobletful into his mouth, Peverell opened his eyes and blinked at him. "Dad?"

"Er - sure, yeah," James said, sloshing the potion into Peverell's mouth and across his face.

Peverell coughed, swallowing. "Please. I don't want to anymore…"

"You told me to, remember? C'mon, Peverell."

"Harry," the boy said. "It's me, Dad. It's Harry."

"Right," James said, trying not to look too closely at the boy's crying eyes. "Harry, kid, you've got to keep drinking. Listen to your old man."

Harry blinked at him as he refilled the goblet. "You're not old… you're young. Too young… Don't know yet…"

James paused, staring at him. "Don't know what?"

Harry sighed. "Dad."

He looked like he was about to pass out. James hastily filled the goblet and crouched down in front of him. "Harry, time for the next round."

"Please, Dad… _stop…"_

"Sorry, Harry. Just a couple more." More like four or five, but James wasn't going to tell him that.

Harry didn't speak after the next goblet. He only gasped and shuddered. But when James tried to force another down his throat, Harry started to sob.

"Please, please don't! I don't want to! Dad! Why?" The last word was uttered so pitifully that James flinched.

"We've got to kill Voldemort, Harry, remember?"

"I already killed him," Harry whispered.

Surprised, but suddenly intent, James asked, "What d'you mean, you already killed him."

"Dead," Harry whispered. "He's dead." Inexplicably, he reached up and rubbed a scar on his forehead, shaped like a little lightning bolt. "Dead."

Surely Peverell was hallucinating? What else would explain such a bizarre statement? But why would Voldemort want an intruder to hallucinate that they had killed him? Was it some strange defense to make any enemy forget that they still had work to do?

"He's not dead," James said. "You've got to drink the potion, Harry."

Harry drank, and whimpered again. "Stop… please stop… don't hurt them… it's because of me… it's all because of me!" He seized hold of James's robes suddenly, his eyes wide and wild. "You died because of me! Kill me! _Kill me!_ "

"Harry -"

"Dad! I don't want you to die!" Harry gasped, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry! Please… Dad… please don't make me…"

When Harry had warned him about the hallucinations, James had never imagined anything like this. "Peverell, get a grip! Let go!"

The boy let go of him instantly, and collapsed in on himself, gulping for air. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Merlin," James muttered, dragging himself up and filling the goblet again. It scraped the bottom - finally. Only one or two more scoops and they'd be through.

"Harry," he said. " _Harry._ "

Peverell was lying in a limp heap, face twisted in anguish. James knelt in front of him. "Harry. Come on. Wake up."

"Dad…"

"Wake up. That's it."

Harry blinked at him helplessly. "Dad… please help me…"

The boy was so disarmingly vulnerable. It made James uncomfortable in ways he couldn't define. "C'mon, Harry."

"Please, Dad. _Please._ "

"Harry…"

Peverell reached out to him suddenly. James had been startled when the boy had seized his robes, but that was nothing to what he felt as the boy gently touched his cheek. "Dad," he said, sounding about ten years younger than he was. He swallowed hard and whispered, "I didn't want you to die."

It was disturbing. More disturbing by far than the Inferi had been. It might not have unsettled James so much if the boy hadn't looked so damned much like him, but as it was, Harry could have been his twin.

All except the eyes. He had brilliant green eyes.

Familiar eyes.

James stared at them, and they stared back. James tried to picture where he had seen them before. Some other wizarding family - some distant relation by marriage, perhaps -

He _knew_ he recognized them, he just couldn't quite put his finger on -

On Mrs. Evans?

No. On Lily.

James frowned. That couldn't be right. Not unless Lily had a cousin who had married _his_ cousin and had a child that looked just like _their_ child would have -

"Oh, Merlin," James breathed.

Harry blinked again, then closed his eyes, sinking down against the rocks.

"Hey - Harry! Harry! Wake up. We - we're almost through -" He gazed at the boy in horror. The last thing he wanted to do was force another mouthful of potion down his throat.

He gazed at the half-empty goblet in his hand, then straightened and looked in the basin.

Two gobletfuls left, roughly.

James gazed down at the half-conscious boy lying on the rocks, then at the potion.

"Sorry, Peverell," he muttered. "I never was good at following orders."

Tossing back the potion in the goblet and swallowing it with a gasp, he reached into the basin for more.

* * *

Harry woke to a sensation of burning thirst. For several seconds, that was all he was aware of, and he reached out blindly, croaking, "Water."

His only answer was the sound of ragged breathing from somewhere nearby.

Blinking, he tried to open his eyes, but they were dry and scratchy, as if he had been crying.

Wasting precious water in tears.

 _Water._

He needed water. He needed it more than he had ever needed anything. He could barely remember what that _anything_ might be. Nothing existed, or had ever existed, that was as important as water.

When he blinked again, he saw a black, smooth, wet lake stretching out away from him.

 _Water._

Shifting against the rough rock beneath him, he started to crawl. His body ached as if he had been ill for months, perhaps years. Why was he here, in this dark place, thirsty and without anyone to help him?

The ragged breathing behind him quickened, but Harry was too focused on getting to the lake to care.

The rocks beneath his fingers were suddenly damp, slimy and smelly, but _wet._ He felt a surge of relief. He was almost there. Just a few more feet -

"I don't think so," a hoarse voice said from behind him. Hands clapped his shoulders and pulled him around to face the source of the ragged breathing.

It was himself.

He jerked backward against the rocks, startled. Had he and Hermione messed with a Time-Turner again?

No, they had messed with something much bigger.

"James," he muttered.

"Yeah," James said, with an odd look on his face. "No water for you, mate."

"Thirsty," Harry croaked.

"Not for Inferius water, you're not."

Harry choked, remembering the exploding corpses, and recoiled from the edge of the lake. James grinned weakly.

"Thought you'd reconsider."

"James - the locket -"

"Got it here," James said, pulling the locket out of his pocket and letting it swing for a moment between them, catching the lingering green light from whatever traces of potion were left in the basin.

Harry frowned. James's hand was shaking. His voice was hoarse, and he was pale, sickly-looking.

"You drank the potion!" he accused.

"Just a few mouthfuls," James said, shrugging, though a shudder shook his frame as he did so. "You passed out, Harry."

There was something different in the way he was looking at Harry, but Harry didn't have time to analyze it. Though he wasn't paralyzed with thirst anymore, he still wouldn't have said no to about a dozen glasses of water, and he thought they should get out of the cave before one or the other of them lost it and started sucking up lake water.

"The boat?" he said, looking around. It was still there.

"C'mon," James said, reaching out to help him up. James wasn't in much shape to be helping anyone, but Harry doubted he could have stood on his own, and couldn't help leaning heavily on James.

"In we go," James said, practically dumping Harry in the boat. Harry tried briefly to rearrange himself into a more comfortable position, then gave up.

He heard James climb in, then felt the boat sliding across the lake. He might have passed out again; at any rate, when they struck the rock at the edge of the lake, he jerked into wakefulness with a gasp.

"Easy," James said. "Come on, kid."

This was odd, much odder than James calling him Harry, but Harry couldn't bring himself to ask about it. He wanted nothing so much as to lie down and fall asleep. Maybe for a couple of years.

" _Mobilicorpus!_ "

Harry felt his body lift smoothly into the air, and found himself wondering with some concern whether James was going to bang his head into the rock the way Sirius had with Snape that night in the tunnel leading away from the Shrieking Shack. But James, though a little shaky at first, managed to keep Harry away from the rock wall, and Harry barely noticed they had passed through the archway until he smelled the fresh, sharp scent of saltwater.

"Almost there," James told him, lowering him into their boat.

Whether they faced any last defenses on their way out of the cave, Harry could not have said. He drifted into sleep, and left the rest to his dad.


	48. Chapter 48

48

Severus surveyed the younger Potter's inert form with a mixture of fury and very begrudging admiration. "The little imbecile."

"He didn't have a choice!" James Potter snapped, eyes bright with anger despite his extreme pallor. "It was drink the potion or leave the Horcrux -"

"I am well aware of the choices Mr. Peverell faced. What I cannot fathom is why he would not have discussed their details with me first - or why he would not have asked me to accompany him. I am, after all, a Potions Master."

"He didn't ask you because he knew you'd insist on drinking the potion yourself, of course," Miss Granger said. She was clutching her face in exasperation and worry. "How bad is it? He was sure it wouldn't kill him -"

"You might both have been more sure had you consulted with me first."

"Just answer the question," his younger self said, giving Severus a look that he recognized at once was meant to encourage him to be more sensitive to Miss Granger's feelings. He had been receiving a lot of those looks in the past few days, to his alternating annoyance and amusement.

"He will not die," Severus said, scowling. "I daresay he will recover once he has had the chance to rest - preferably without all of his friends gawking at him, although I do not doubt he will enjoy your attention once he is conscious enough to appreciate it."

Miss Granger glared at him and, noticing her glare, his younger self copied it, though with somewhat less feeling. Severus rolled his eyes. "I have given him water and a Thirst Quenching Draught. His immediate discomfort has been relieved. I suspect he will sleep soundly, but if there are indications that he is in distress, by all means, provide him with a dose of Dreamless Sleep. There is nothing that will cure these symptoms more than rest."

Miss Granger deflated. "You're sure?"

"Miss Granger, when have I ever expressed any opinion of which I was not sure?"

"Just because you're sure doesn't mean you're right," the conscious Potter muttered insolently.

"When you have acquired a mastership in Potions, you may offer your opinion on this subject, Mr. Potter. Until then, I suggest you avail yourself of the last of the Thirst Quenching Draught and grace us all with your absence. Although not, of course, until you have surrendered the locket."

Potter glared, looking ready to argue, but at that moment Ginny Weasley burst into the tent, red hair flying. "I got your message! Where is he - the idiot?"

Severus arched a brow at Miss Granger, who sighed and gestured to the bed. Miss Weasley rushed to Potter's side, verified that he was still alive, then scowled at his unconscious form. "Leave it to him not to tell anybody what it would do!"

Severus considered informing her that Miss Granger seemed to have been well aware of most of the specifics, but a quick look from his younger self, both understanding and warning, stopped him.

He supposed his younger self had a point. Listening to the two Gryffindor girls screech at each other would not amuse any of them. It would certainly not aid the Boy Who Lived in his recovery.

"You will undoubtedly be relieved to hear that Mr. Peverell will suffer no permanent damage," he said.

Ginny Weasley snorted. "Maybe not from the potion. But when he wakes up…" She fingered her wand menacingly.

"He didn't have a choice," Potter said again.

The Weasley girl spared him a short glance, then did a double-take. "Don't tell me you drank it, too!"

"Had to," Potter said, shrugging. "He passed out."

Miss Weasley grimaced.

Potter looked like he felt some other explanation was called for, and said, "I offered to drink it all –"

"There is no need to assure us of your virtue and good intentions, Mr. Potter," Severus said, sneering. "We are all well aware of the lengths to which your cousin will go to sacrifice himself for others."

The Gryffindor girls both made faces. Severus thought Potter's jaw tensed strangely at the word _cousin,_ but, even more strangely, he said nothing in response. Instead, he turned to look at the unconscious boy lying in the bed with an intensity that raised Severus's alarm.

The worthless boy was beginning to suspect.

What was worse, he showed no indication of wanting to leave his alternate self's son's bedside. Which meant Severus was trapped in a tent with _two_ Potters, _two_ Gryffindor girls, and _two_ versions of himself. Not to mention that bloody spying house-elf.

And Fiend, but he liked her. Even if she was currently curled up by the younger Potter's head, purring so vigorously her tufted tail was a fuzzy blur. He chose to believe she was merely celebrating the boy's unconsciousness.

Severus, for his part, would have greatly preferred that the other Potter be the one sprawled out senseless on the bed. Watching the nemesis of his adolescence gaze broodingly at his alternate self's self-sacrificing future son was not how he had envisioned spending his afternoon.

"What did you mean," the boy asked, "about him sacrificing himself?"

Severus scowled. No doubt Potter wanted to know what heroic deeds he could attribute to his future offspring – and thereby, of course, to himself.

"That he's a great prat," Miss Weasley said, surveying her supposed husband with annoyance and (inexplicably) affection. "Always throwing himself into danger for other people, nearly getting himself killed -"

"Surely that's a good thing?" Potter asked.

Miss Weasley and Miss Granger exchanged a glance, and the latter said, "It might be, if he were _reasonable_ about it. But he thinks everything is his responsibility."

" _Everything,_ " Miss Weasley agreed.

"He doesn't trust other people to do what needs to be done. He has to fix every problem all by himself."

"Except," Severus remarked, "when it comes to his school work."

The girls both snorted.

"I noticed that," Potter said, eyeing them all curiously. "He doesn't seem to be as good at spells as I would have expected. Of a cousin, I mean," he added hastily.

Severus saw at once that both the Gryffindor girls and his younger self recognized what Potter had really meant. Miss Granger and the younger Severus looked alarmed; Miss Weasley's eyes flashed with mischief.

"Oh, no," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "He's awful at school. Truly dreadful."

"One of the worst in his year," Severus added, meeting the girl's eye.

Miss Granger, evidently catching on, added, "I'm sure he would have failed everything if I hadn't helped him with all his homework. And you should see his spelling!"

"Atrocious," Miss Weasley said, shaking her head. "Absolutely shameful."

Potter looked taken aback. "It can't be that bad. You like him!"

Miss Weasley arched a brow. "Not for his brains," she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Potter looked torn between horror and entirely misplaced paternal pride. Severus, for his part, was simply horrified, though he knew well enough that Miss Weasley was lying – he had heard enough of her comments to her boyfriend to know that she was not quite as satisfied with their physical intimacy as she would like to be.

"What about Quidditch?" Potter asked eagerly.

"Oh, he's pants at Quidditch," Miss Weasley said immediately. "He can barely stay on a broom."

Potter's face fell comically. "He can't?"

"It's quite embarrassing, really," Miss Granger said. "He tried out for the team, of course, but, well…"

"No one would be mad enough to let Harry near a Quaffle," Miss Weasley said. "Let alone a Snitch."

"And then of course," Severus said, "there was the incident with the Bludger."

The girls winced dramatically.

"What happened?" Potter asked, looking like he wasn't certain he wanted to know.

"Smashed his head," Miss Weasley said. "Almost cracked his skull in two. He was never the same."

"People made fun of him for weeks," Miss Granger said sadly. "Oh! And do you remember the time he fell off his broom, and it flew straight into a Whomping Willow?"

"Poor broom," Miss Weasley sighed. "They only ever found splinters of it."

"He fell off his broom?" Potter asked, disbelievingly. "He's that bad?"

"Oh, worse," Miss Granger said. "People used to offer to run around under him with a mattress, but honestly, I doubt whether even that would have done much good…"

Potter was clearly distressed. "Didn't – didn't his dad teach him?"

The girls' smiles evaporated instantly.

"Er – no," Miss Granger said. "He wasn't raised by his parents, you see."

Potter looked startled. "Why not? Why wouldn't – oh." He gazed from one grim face to another. "Right."

There was an awkward pause, during which Fiend's purring was the only sound.

Then Potter rallied and said, "But surely Pad- I mean, surely his godfather taught him?"

"That would have been difficult," Severus said, "as his godfather was languishing in Azkaban for his father's murder."

"WHAT! HE WOULD NEV- I mean, I'm sure his godfather couldn't have done that!" Potter looked frantically from one face to another.

"He didn't," Miss Granger said. "He was framed."

"He did escape Azkaban, eventually," Miss Weasley added.

"He escaped?" Potter asked, suddenly looking thrilled. "You're joking! All by himself?"

"Yep. 'Course, he'd gone a bit mad."

"He was always mad," Severus said, scowling.

Potter glanced at him, then started violently and gaped at him in shock. Severus didn't even need Legilimency to realize that it was only just now occurring to the dolt that if the boy in the bed was in fact his own son, then the man who so resembled Severus Snape must, in fact, be his erstwhile victim's older self.

Potter's jaw worked, first as he struggled to close his mouth, then as he evidently struggled to keep it closed against the questions flailing around his otherwise rather empty skull. It was with satisfaction that Severus saw the grudging recognition in the brat's eyes that the man before him was no longer a victim to be trifled with. Indeed, the boy looked rather wary.

"Er –" he said, obviously trying to wrench his brain back to some semblance of working order. "But didn't his godfather teach him how to fly after he escaped?"

Of all the questions the boy could have asked – including questions about his own and, more importantly, Lily's death – Potter had naturally chosen the most vital.

Miss Weasley rolled her eyes. "He bought him a racing broom. It didn't go well."

Potter slumped in defeat. "Not a Quidditch player," he muttered, devastated.

"Cheer up," Miss Weasley said. "Maybe _you_ can teach him."

Potter inflated so much at this idea that Severus was tempted to poke him with a needle and see if he exploded. "I could! I _will!_ There's no way I'm letting my – my cousin – go through life completely _useless –_ "

Miss Weasley caught Severus's gaze and nearly lost her composure. Schooling her features with an obvious effort, she said, "You know, I'm sure he'd really appreciate it. But you'll have to go _really_ slow. Talk to him like he's a two-year-old. Otherwise he might panic."

"And don't let him fly more than a few feet above the ground," Miss Granger said, with an admirable affectation of concern. "It always ends badly."

"I'll be sure to provide a mattress," Severus's younger self muttered. "Just in case your teaching isn't up to snuff, Potter…"

Potter shot him a filthy look, but apparently the presence of so many of Severus's allies kept him from lashing out as he usually would. Severus almost thought he saw the boy's gaze flicker at him before he shut his mouth and went back to studying his future alternate self's son.

"Perhaps," Severus said, "you would be so kind as to hand over the locket now, Mr. Potter? I am afraid I will not be able to permit you to teach your _cousin_ anything if you are possessed."

Miss Weasley flinched – genuinely, this time, Severus suspected – and Potter, with some revulsion, drew the locket out of his robes and handed it over.

Severus took it, eyeing the mark of Slytherin with interest and disappointment. The Dark Lord's insistence on defiling artifacts of such historical significance was truly regrettable.

"So that just leaves the cup," Miss Granger murmured.

They contemplated the significance of that in silence. They were close – very close, it seemed, to accomplishing their aim.

One of their aims, at least. The rings his younger self and Miss Granger were wearing were an inescapable reminder of the other. The younger Severus seemed to be thinking the same thing – he was twisting the ring on his finger, a nervous habit Severus had noticed on more than one occasion in the past few days. Of course, whenever the ring glowed, he had the opposite reaction, and shoved his hand as deep into his pocket as possible, looking like he would have liked to cut off the whole hand rather than contemplate what Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom were currently doing.

Severus was both amused by and fully sympathetic to the impulse. He did not doubt that he himself would have reacted in the same exact way.

At present, however, the ring was blissfully dull, and it could not have been clearer his younger self was wondering how they would handle the marriage law when the time came.

"Did you manage to get an interview with Skeeter?" he asked Miss Weasley.

"Yeah," she said, brightening. "It was great. She's going to do some more digging on Umbridge – I bet she finds loads."

"Just so long as Skeeter doesn't side with her," Potter said.

Miss Weasley snorted. "Have a little faith in your wife."

"Where is my wife?" Potter said, stumbling over the final word but managing to look a little pleased. Severus and his younger self met each other's gaze with entirely identical expressions of distaste.

"Back at your place," Miss Weasley said. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

Potter glanced down at the boy on the bed, hesitated, then said, "I think I'll just stay here."

Miss Weasley looked more impatient with than touched by this display of paternal concern, but, perhaps concluding that her boyfriend would be pleased by it, refrained from saying anything.

Severus, for his part, had no intention of standing around watching the Potters moon over each other. "If you will excuse me, I have a Horcrux to destroy."

"Can I try?" Miss Weasley said instantly. "I haven't had a turn yet."

" _I'm_ the one who found it," Potter said peevishly.

Severus considered the Weasley girl, ignoring Potter entirely. "Perhaps. You may accompany me, if you wish."

She cast a worried glance at her boyfriend, but managed to shrug off her loving concern and say, "All right, Prince. Potter, if anything happens to him, I'll skin you alive."

"I'll stay," Miss Granger said, obviously not willing to trust Potter either.

Severus's younger self looked like he would have gladly removed himself from Potter's company, but was evidently unwilling to leave Miss Granger alone with him. With an air of resignation, he seated himself at the table. "So will I."

Severus collected his cloak from the hook by the door and led the way out. Miss Weasley had never bothered to remove her winter attire after bursting into the tent from wherever she and Lily had been, but she pulled out a knitted hat (probably a gift from Miss Granger) and yanked the shapeless blob over her head.

"All right, Prince," she said again, gazing around the snowy clearing. "Where to?"

"I suppose that depends, Mrs. Peverell, on whether you can still speak Parseltongue."

She looked shocked, then angry, then curious. "Why?"

He dangled the locket in front of her face. "According to your beloved husband, the locket must be opened before it can be destroyed by force. I have no doubt that Fiendfyre will destroy it either way, but as I have no intention of teaching you that spell –"

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because, Mrs. Peverell, the damage you would wreak would be apocalyptic."

She considered that, then grinned.

"As such," he continued, "I will only permit you to destroy the locket if you can do so with the basilisk fang I retrieved from the Chamber of Secrets, which I have here with me. That will only be possible if you can open the locket."

"I was possessed when I spoke Parseltongue before."

"And your husband was harboring a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul. Yet, though that fragment has been destroyed, I believe he retains the ability to speak to snakes, does he not?"

Miss Weasley nodded. Alice Longbottom – the Alice Longbottom of their world – had once brought a snake to a dinner party and convinced Potter to show off his skill, to general fascination.

"It may therefore be the case that you also retain some latent memory of the talent. A language, once learnt, is rarely unlearned, merely forgotten.

Miss Weasley considered that. "Okay, let's try it."

Severus gestured for her to follow him, and led her into the trees. Though he would have preferred not to leave the safety of the wards, the idea of Potter wandering out and seeing his future son's future wife speaking Parseltongue was enough to drive him deeper into the forest.

Miss Weasley, following him, snorted in sudden amusement.

"Would you care to explain the joke, Mrs. Peverell?"

She glanced at him, grinning that Weasley grin of hers. "Can you imagine a year ago, if you had asked me to follow you alone into the woods?"

Severus did not find the resultant image amusing, but he could see why she would. "I daresay you would have assumed I was going to murder you."

"Or torture me, or something," she agreed. "Now…"

"Now?"

She shrugged. "It's not even weird, really."

He gave her a curious and somewhat surprised look. Knowing she responded better to humor than to gravity, he said, "Am I to understand that I have lost the ability to intimidate you?"

She grinned. "Disappointing, is it?"

"Supremely."

She laughed. "You're like – well, not like family, exactly. Maybe like a distant uncle."

For all that Severus found Miss Granger's conversation to be more intellectually stimulating, he had to admit that Miss Weasley had the greater talent for catching him off guard. "You view me as an uncle?" he asked incredulously.

"What else?" she asked. "You're always looking out for us, but you're obviously not a parent –"

"Thank Merlin," he muttered.

"– and I'm sure you'll be a part of our lives until the day you die."

"There was a time when you looked forward to that day immensely."

"We used to plot your murder all the time," she said, "even before that last year."

"No doubt the offense of assigning you difficult homework was one worthy of death."

"Oh, definitely."

He rolled his eyes.

"But you're not our teacher anymore, and obviously we all like you now –"

"You _like_ me?"

She gave him a look. "Have you ever seen the way I treat people I _don't_ like, Snape?"

She had a point. He had no doubt she could make his life a living torment if she wanted to, maybe even worse than her twin brothers could have, while there were still two of them. "I assumed you were refraining out of gratitude for my assistance during the war."

She snorted. "Narcissa Malfoy _assisted_ during the war, and I'd still put Itching Potion in her robes if I had half the chance."

Quite against his will, Severus laughed. The image of the impeccably elegant and disdainful Narcissa Malfoy wildly scratching herself was too good.

"I appreciate," he said, still chuckling, "that you have never made such an attempt on _my_ robes. It would have failed, of course –"

"Of course."

"– but nonetheless," he chuckled again. "I thank you."

The girl was eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and triumph, but she only said, "I would have tried, if I didn't like you."

Severus mulled that over. He had already accepted that Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and even the Boy Who Lived had overcome their dislike of him, but to hear that one of the Weasley brood had done so as well surprised him. He could not fathom what he had done to earn any of their regard; he was certain he was just as unpleasant now as he had been before. Then again, perhaps the mere absence of homework was enough to gain a Gryffindor's esteem.

Yet there was a difference between having their regard, and being regarded as an _uncle_ , of all things. He was in equal parts offended and fascinated by the suggestion. Using the role of uncle as a cover for his relationship to his younger self had only been logical; the idea that this entire exasperating band of teenagers might adopt him as such had never occurred to him, nor was he certain whether to discourage it or – well, or tolerate it. He would certainly not be _encouraging_ it.

The notion was absurd.

"I think this will do," he said, returning his focus to the matter at hand. The trees had closed around them in a dense shield from prying eyes, and after a few cautious revelatory sweeps of his wand, Severus was convinced they were alone.

He placed the locket on a stump and gestured for Miss Weasley to proceed.

She frowned at it. Then, crouching down in front of it, she poked it with her wand.

It didn't react.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as she squinted at the serpentine engraving on the locket and whispered, "Open."

"English," he said, speaking at a normal volume.

She flushed, as if not speaking the Parseltongue Riddle had forced out of her should be cause for embarrassment. Scowling at the locket, she tried again. "Open!"

"There is no need to strain yourself, Miss Weasley. Fiendfyre will be more than capable of –"

"Conjure a snake!" she ordered, rounding on him.

He arched a brow, confused.

"Harry says it's easier with real snakes," she explained. "Conjure one!"

He might have taken umbrage at her disrespectful tone, but he was too intrigued by her suggestion. He waved his wand. " _Serpensortia!_ "

A serpent uncoiled from the snow, hissing in the cold air like the wind through the firs. And Ginny Weasley hissed back.

Severus had one second to observe the snake's confused head tilt before the locket snapped open and a cloud of black malice unfurled from its depths. Miss Weasley jumped back, and Severus reached out a hand to steady her, drawing the basilisk fang out with his other hand. The serpent he had Conjured slithered away through the trees.

"Your weapon, Miss Weasley."

She glanced at the fang, snatched it away from him, and glowered at the swirling black cloud. As if in response, it suddenly drew in on itself and became a young man.

"Riddle," she whispered.

The young man was pale, dark-haired, and handsome, in the same haughty way the Blacks were handsome. He was eyeing Miss Weasley with cool puzzlement.

"You've seen me before," he said quietly. "But I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

It was unnerving. Severus knew Voldemort had not always been the deformed creature who had branded him with the Mark - who had himself been far less deformed than the creature Pettigrew had resurrected more than a decade later - but to see this elegant young man, the picture of everything charming and civilized, and realize that this was what the Dark Lord had been before the years of self-mutilation had destroyed his soul was disturbing. If he had appeared in one of Severus's Potions lessons, would Severus have recognized him for what he was? Or would he have been as enamored of the boy as Slughorn had been? It had been rare that Severus had truly liked any of his students, but there had been a few over the years, particularly gifted or particularly mature, who had earned his regard. Would Riddle have been one of them? Or would Severus have known, the instant he looked into those eyes, that he was facing a murderer, a deceiver, a psychopathic tyrant?

Miss Weasley hissed at Riddle's words, not like a snake, but like an angry cat. Then she launched herself at him – at Riddle, not at the locket. For one moment it looked like she was going to drive the basilisk fang into the teenaged Voldemort's face. Then he dissolved into black smoke again with a laugh, while she stumbled forward into the dark cloud.

"Miss Weasley!" Severus said sharply, alarmed.

The black cloud had begun to converge on her. Severus raised his wand, but though he knew many spells of containment and warding, he had no idea whether they would serve against a loose Horcrux, or whether he might be endangering Miss Weasley by using them now. The cloud had surrounded her, swallowing her up in a black so intense Severus had lost all sight not only of her, but also of the locket.

"Miss Weasley!"

He heard her furious shriek, then a frightened cry, and was half-considering rushing into the cloud himself when a string of profanity so appalling he would have docked Gryffindor three hundred points if they had still been at Hogwarts emerged from the depths of Voldemort's fragmented soul.

"I SAID _**NO,**_ YOU MOTHER-"

In the shifting, billowing folds of malice, Severus caught one brief glimpse of the open locket, and another of a gleaming fang. A hideous shriek pierced the crisp winter air, along with the unmistakably Gryffindor shout of "HA!"

The black cloud vanished, and Miss Weasley fell gracelessly on her bottom, panting. For several seconds she said nothing, glaring at the smoking locket. Then she huffed out a puff of breath. "What a _git!_ "

Severus tried to conceal the depth of his relief by raising his brows. "I take it he tried to possess you."

Her expression turned fierce. "As if I'd let him! Maybe when I was eleven, but I'm not a stupid little girl anymore!"

"You were never stupid," he said, "merely foolish."

She stared at him for a moment, perhaps weighing his words. Then she lowered her gaze to the basilisk fang. "Can I have this?"

"Absolutely not," he said, taking it from her at once.

"But -"

"Miss Weasley, you are more than capable of inflicting untold damage even without the use of venom. I have no doubt you will find ways to compensate for the loss." Carefully, he stowed the fang away, reminding himself to find an adequate hiding place for it when she wasn't looking. He wouldn't put it past the girl to go rummaging through his things in search of it.

He looked up to find her fixedly studying the place where he had slipped the fang into his robes. Reaching out to him, she said innocently, "Help me up?"

He snorted. "Not a chance, Miss Weasley."

She pouted, but climbed to her feet without difficulty before stomping back toward the tent. Severus watched her with something approaching fondness for a few seconds before shaking loose the absurd sentiment and following her.

 _Uncle._ What a nightmare that would be.


	49. Chapter 49

49

Though Hermione had enjoyed pranking James Potter (it had felt like payback for years of listening to Harry's stupid Quidditch conversations), she was not nearly as calm about his discovery of Harry's identity as Ginny obviously was.

As a Marauder, he had no doubt learned the art of keeping secrets just as early as she, Harry, and Ron had, but even if he didn't _tell_ anyone, that didn't mean he wouldn't _do_ something. Hermione had found it difficult enough keeping Harry and Ron from disaster during their years at Hogwarts. She suspected James Potter, who was far more arrogant and far less well-intentioned, would be ten times the trouble. She knew she should feel sorry for him (after all, he had just lost almost everyone he loved), but it was hard to summon up the appropriate compassion when her mind was racing through every way he could colossally mess up their plans.

In the instant that she had realized what he suspected, she had fully intended to Obliviate him. But then Ginny had started teasing him, and Snape, of all people, had joined in, and she had gone along with it, assuming they would all have a conversation later about how to deal with this. Snape had given no outward appearance of alarm; as far as she could tell, he found the whole thing only minimally inconvenient. And maybe he was right. But Hermione's impression of James wasn't that he could be given a piece of vital, universe-altering information without dire consequences following.

Of course, he likely didn't know exactly _how_ universe-altering the information was. He no doubt assumed they had found a way to travel through time other than a Time-Turner, which would, of course, never have allowed them to truly change the past. He was probably dying to find out what they had used, so he could use it himself – to change the tragedy in Godric's Hollow, or maybe something even more drastic, like killing Tom Riddle before he drew his first breath. Neither of those was possible; though the World Gate had thrown them to an earlier time in this reality, Hermione didn't think it would throw them back _again,_ at least not in the same reality. The Time Gate might, but interfering with this universe even more than they already had could have cosmic consequences Hermione hadn't even begun to consider. Her research with Snape had suggested that new realities were splitting into existence all the time, but with an elegance and symmetry that maintained a balance, incomprehensible though it was, across all of existence. By traveling between realities, they had threatened that balance (and she was all too aware of how drastic a role she had played in that); traveling back in time multiple times within the same universe – a universe that was not their own – could tangle this reality and perhaps infinite others into knots that might bring about the collapse of the entire cosmos.

Of course, it might also have as little effect as a single minuscule fray in a single minuscule knot in a single minuscule thread in an endlessly vast cosmic carpet, but Hermione wasn't going to take the risk, no matter how much she wished the victims at Godric's Hollow hadn't died.

James, though… Hermione suspected James would think the risk was worth it. What was it Sirius had said about him? The risk was what would have made it fun?

She could just picture it: James, having rescued Sirius from Azkaban, gleefully smashing through universal barriers, reveling in the risk of bringing the entire frame of existence crashing down around him.

Harry and Ron could be rash and reckless, but at least they weren't _deliberately_ destructive. Most of the time.

James, oblivious to her thoughts, was watching Harry with an expression of concern that might have been touching if Hermione hadn't suspected it had as much to do with Harry's supposed failure as a Quidditch star as with his current state of unconsciousness.

"So what is he good at?" James asked. "Aside from… er… whatever he and his wife get up to."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She couldn't see Severus, as he was sitting behind her, but she could easily picture the expression of nausea that had no doubt settled over his face.

Taking pity on James, she said, "He's really good at Defense."

James looked skeptical. "Is he? He's not very good at spells."

"He's good at defensive spells," she countered. "But more importantly, he keeps his head in a crisis."

"Except on a broom," Severus interjected, evidently unable to help himself.

"Yes, except then," Hermione agreed, glancing back at him with a small smile before turning back to James. "But in a real fight, he never panics, and he almost always wins."

James brightened considerably at this. "That's brilliant! I always wanted a dueling champion for a – cousin."

Hermione was beginning to seriously question her assessment that James could keep a secret. He had all the subtlety of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"He's not a dueling champion," Hermione said, maybe a little more repressively than necessary. "He doesn't duel for _fun,_ you know. Only when he's fighting for something that matters."

James's face fell again. "I noticed that, too. He's so _serious._ " He said the word like it was dirty. "And he likes _him,_ " he added, with a disgusted look at Severus.

"Yes," Hermione said calmly. "We all do."

"To think," James muttered, "my own flesh and blood, cozying up to Sniv-"

Fiend hissed, her yellow eyes suddenly gleaming like fire in her freshly woken face.

"To Snape," James amended, eyeing her claws warily, though whether because they were sinking into the pillow mere millimeters from Harry's ear or because he was afraid they were coming for him, Hermione wasn't sure.

It would have been easy to just let Fiend handle him, but Hermione could feel Severus glaring at James, and decided to intervene.

"It is strange," she remarked, "to think of Harry being related to someone so petty and cruel."

James started. "I'm not petty!"

"Please," Hermione said. "Harry grew out of his schoolboy grudges _ages_ ago, and anyway, they were all perfectly justified. Whereas you're _still_ harping on about –"

"I'm not harping on about anything! I just think he's a worthless git!"

"Well, where we're from, everyone of any _worth_ thinks he's brilliant," she said coolly.

James scowled. "Sounds like the world's really gone downhill."

"Or maybe we're just not as prejudiced as you."

"Prejudiced! I'm not prejudiced!"

Severus snorted, which wasn't helpful, but Hermione could hardly blame him.

" _He's_ prejudiced!" James snapped.

"I was," Severus said unexpectedly.

Hermione turned to look at him. His arms were folded in a manner that made him look casual and dismissive but which she suspected was a defensive gesture.

"I don't deny it," Severus said, looking not at James but at Hermione. "I wanted wizards to rule over Muggles."

"Oh, but now you're a Muggle-lover, is that it?" James said.

"Not at all. I've seen nothing that changed my opinion of Muggles," he sneered, then, looking back at Hermione, added, "although I do not doubt that there are things that could. But to answer your question, Potter, it was not my opinion of Muggles that changed, but my opinion of wizards."

"Lucius Malfoy must have really broken your heart."

"Lucius Malfoy threatened to force Lily to marry me."

"And you said no," James scoffed. "We get it, you're a saint."

"You misunderstand me," Severus said, eyes narrowing. "Between this filthy law and Malfoy's threats, it was obvious wizards were no more worthy to rule over Muggles than Muggles are worthy to rule over themselves."

"Brilliant," James mocked. "That's truly deep, Sni- I mean, Snape. And have you applied your greasy intellect to the matter of who does deserve to be Lord of the Universe? Maybe your Kneazle?"

Fiend's ears twitched. Severus smiled slightly. "Perhaps. I'm sure she would do better than _some_." He glared pointedly at James, then turned to Hermione. "Although perhaps not as well as others."

Hermione blushed. James made a gagging sound.

"And who would _you_ appoint to the position, Potter? Yourself, no doubt?"

"Of course not," James said. "I'd put my son in charge."

Hermione snorted. On the bed, Harry stirred and blinked sleepily. "Charge of what?" he mumbled.

"The universe," Severus said. "We were discussing who would be best suited to rule it."

"Mm." Harry blinked again, then closed his eyes. "Dobby."

"Dobby?" James asked incredulously, but Harry was already asleep again. James looked around, finding Dobby in a corner of the kitchenette freeing the seeds of a pomegranate with determined taps of his fingers. His ears were perked up and he was quivering with what Hermione guessed was suppressed pleasure, but there were none of the exclamations or expressions of gratitude she might have expected. Indeed, his reaction was strangely sedate.

Spying had obviously taught him restraint.

"He must be dreaming," James said, looking at Harry again. "A house-elf would be even worse than a Kneazle."

Hermione flared up at once. "He'd be much better than most people I know! He'd certainly be better than you – _or_ Harry."

James looked at her like she'd gone mad. "He's a servant!"

"He's a free elf!" she snapped. "And they'll _all_ be free one day, when you purebloods stop taking advantage of them!"

"Come off it," James said, half-laughing. "Sirius told me about his family's elf, the thing's a complete nutter."

"Kreacher is not a _thing!_ " Hermione could hear her voice getting shriller, but she couldn't help herself. She, Harry, and the others had argued for hours about whether or not to save Kreacher from being used to test Voldemort's potion, but as the only way to save him would be openly attacking Voldemort while two of his Horcruxes were still at large, Hermione had ultimately been forced to give in. That didn't mean she wasn't still haunted by guilt about it, though.

"How would you know?" James asked, frowning at her. "Have you met him?"

Hermione should have lied, but she was too furious, and the Kneazle was already out of the bag, anyway. "You and Harry weren't the first people to drink that hideous potion!" she snapped. "Voldemort tested it on Kreacher first! Only unlike you, he didn't have a choice! Because you _arrogant – condescending – self-absorbed – anthropocentric – wizards_ took that choice away!" She was on her feet, stomping with every word. "How _dare_ you insult him!"

"I'm not the one with a house-elf!" James countered, gratifyingly alarmed by her fury.

"Oh, and I suppose that makes it all right?" Hermione bristled. "There are elves enslaved at Hogwarts, at the Ministry, at St. Mungo's, even at _Azkaban,_ and you think because you haven't managed to _buy_ one yourself, it's not your problem? You _arrogant_ self-obsessed git! If house-elves ruled the world, we would all be better off!"

"Well, no one would go hungry, I'll give you that –" At Hermione's expression, he said, "Come on, they like it! Maybe not the ones in Azkaban, but I've been to the kitchens at Hogwarts, they're happy –"

"They're _slaves,_ " Hermione seethed. "Slaves! No wages! No holidays! No legal or political representation! No educational opportunities! No rights whatsoever!"

"All right," James said, "that's a bit unfair, I grant you. But Kreacher's still a nutter, potion or no potion. Sirius's mum has fed him all kinds of nonsense about blood purity, and his brother Regulus is an actual Death Eater –"

"A Death Eater who would die for his house-elf!" Hermione snapped.

"What d'you mean, he'd die for him?"

"I mean," Hermione said, gritting her teeth, "that if Regulus had been in that cave with Kreacher, he would have sooner drunk the potion himself than forced an innocent house-elf to do it for him!"

"Well, like I said," James said, "they're mental, the whole lot of them."

It was probably fortunate that Ginny bounced back into the tent at that moment. "I can speak Parseltongue!" she exclaimed, evidently delighted. The open locket was dangling from her fist, blackened and clearly dead. "But Prince won't let me have a basilisk fang, can you believe it?"

Snape, entering the tent with rather more gravity, said, "I sincerely doubt you will find anyone in present company willing to support your cause, Mrs. Peverell."

James was staring at her in horror. "You're a Parselmouth?"

"Yep! Harry is, too, you know. I can't wait to try it out on him. I bet I can say all kinds of things to make him blush in public."

If Hermione hadn't still been so angry, she might have laughed. As it was, the looks of mingled horror and unwilling curiosity on all three of the conscious men's faces were enough to force a smile out of her.

Ginny looked around the tent. "Things here look intact."

"Intact?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"We were expecting at least a few broken glasses, maybe an overturned table. Sev and James didn't try to kill each other, then?"

"No," Severus said, "but Potter insulted house-elves, so it's a shame you returned when you did."

Ginny seemed to notice Hermione's rigid posture for the first time. Snape muttered, "That would explain the hair."

"There's nothing wrong with my hair," Hermione snapped.

"It seems to have increased in bushiness," he replied. "Well, well, Mrs. Peverell. You were evidently right – we should have waited outside for another minute or two. Potter might have gotten himself castrated if we had only been patient."

Hermione flushed, then huffed and sat back down, glaring at them all, though it was some consolation that James looked genuinely rattled by Snape's final comment.

"Why were you insulting house-elves, anyway?" Ginny asked him.

"I wasn't," he said. "I just told her the Blacks' elf was mental - and then she went mental, too!"

"Kreacher is a bit mental," Ginny conceded.

"Ginny!" Hermione snapped.

"Not his fault," Ginny said, shrugging. "You'd be mental, too, if you had to live in that house."

"That's what I said!" James exclaimed.

"Still, at least he has Regulus."

James frowned at her. "What is it with you lot and Regulus? He's a Death Eater!"

Ginny shrugged. "People make mistakes."

Snape arched a brow at her. James, however, looked angry. "Have you forgotten about the wedding?"

"No," Ginny said, sitting down on the bed next to Harry's inert form and reaching out to pet Fiend. "But Regulus wasn't there, he was at Hogwarts. You know, because he's a _kid._ "

"A kid who signed up with murderers."

"He might not be too chuffed with them now," Ginny said. "Not after Kreacher."

"I seriously doubt Regulus is going to turn against Voldemort because of a house-elf."

Ginny lifted her chin. "Care to bet on that, Potter?"

James opened his mouth, looking like he fully intended to take her up on it, before reason apparently caught up with him and he realized betting against a time traveler was idiotic.

"Er – I'll pass." He grimaced, as if the words were bitter. "But really? For a house-elf?"

Ginny, catching Hermione's gaze, rolled her eyes, which did very little to dispel Hermione's urge to hex Harry's dad's alternate self into oblivion.

"Shocking though this might be to you, Mr. Potter, not all wizards discriminate in their affections purely on the basis of species," Snape said.

Fiend purred.

"You know," James said, looking around at them all and clearly finding himself outnumbered, "I think Harry'll be all right. I'm going to go see how Lily's doing." Hastily, he retreated.

"Tosser," Ginny muttered, once the crack of his Disapparation had faded.

"Honestly," Hermione said, "how could Harry have come from such a prat?"

Ginny shook her head. "Dunno. Obviously the Dursleys had nothing to do with it…"

There was silence for a moment, then Snape said, "It must have been the Horcrux."

They stared at him for a moment, then laughed. Hermione saw a smug little smile playing at the edge of Snape's mouth, as if he considered it quite the accomplishment to have amused Gryffindors.

The noise was obviously too much for Harry, who woke with a start. "I vote for Dobby," he said.

Hermione grinned. "We know, Harry."

"How are you?" Ginny asked, looking down at him and transferring her hand from Fiend's head to his, to Fiend's evident annoyance.

"Tired," Harry mumbled. "Everyone's laughing."

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's nice," he said, waking up a little more. "Where's D- I mean, where's James?"

"He just left," Ginny said, only a little apologetic. "Went to check on Lily, see how she's faring after the interview with Rita."

"Ugh," Harry groaned, closing his eyes again. "Poor Lily."

"I was there, too, you know," Ginny said, arching her brows.

"Yeah, but you can handle Rita," he said. "Lily, though… She's so…"

"Delicate?" Ginny offered.

"Young," Harry said. "Very young."

"She's older than me," Ginny reminded him.

"Yeah, but no one's like you," he murmured.

Snape and Severus both cleared their throats. Hermione smiled. Maybe Harry wasn't _quite_ as much of a romantic disaster as he used to be.

Then Ginny hissed something that sounded very creepy, and Harry shot up in bed, red as a beet. " _Ginny!_ "

She grinned. "What?"

"You – they –" Harry looked around frantically at everyone else, all watching him with raised eyebrows. "There are _people_ here!"

Ginny glanced around, as if surprised to see them. "Maybe they should go elsewhere."

"Your dearly beloved is still recovering," Snape reminded her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Hermione, you don't mind handling the Snapes, do you?"

"I –" Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Ginny's wording. "I'm sure we could go out for a spot of tea."

"And Dobby – where is Dobby?" Ginny looked around, puzzled.

"Moody," Hermione and Severus said together.

"Let us hope Dobby had less success discerning Potter's revelation than we did," Snape said. "Or the whole Order will know in short order."

"I don't know," Severus said. "Moody must suspect a fair amount by now… I'm sure it's already occurred to him."

"Perhaps," Snape agreed.

Ginny gazed from one to the other of them, then huffed impatiently. "Could you carry on your speculation elsewhere?"

Snape gazed at her with thinned lips, then said, "We will return in precisely three hours. Do ensure that none of us will be scarred for life upon our return – at least no more than we have already been by this conversation. I would rather look into a basilisk's eyes than witness whatever horrors you intend to commit here."

Ginny grinned and blew him a kiss. "Bye, Uncle Sev."

Snape muttered something that he could certainly _not_ have said when he was their professor, and swept out of the tent. Hermione and Severus, catching each other's eyes with embarrassed grins, hurried after him, Fiend in their wake.

* * *

The sun was just setting over the little village where the Crouch family lived when Bellatrix Lestrange Apparated to its border. Red, orange, and gold streaked the sky like fire, entwined with the smoky shades of dusk, and Bellatrix paused for a moment to enjoy the fierce colors and sharp winter wind that draped the village in a blood red hue.

It had taken her days to find this place, to her great impatience and anger. Barty Crouch, Sr. was a senior Ministry official, and his place of residence was kept more secure than Bellatrix had expected: his house wasn't even listed with the Floo Network. But tonight, at last, she had found him, and this crimson sunset filled her with a sense of promise for the fun to come.

Skipping lightly down a little frosty slope, Bellatrix allowed the quiet of the Muggle neighborhood to surround her. She liked the idea of disturbing the quiet; indeed, she could imagine many entertaining ways to do so. But her lord had granted her the privilege of fulfilling his needs, and she resisted all the temptations this gentle little village provided.

She felt Crouch's wards a few feet ahead of her, and paused, sliding her wand through the air without much regard for any Muggle that might glance out of a window and see her. As she had expected, the wards were complex, with all of Crouch's considerable power and that of the Ministry behind them.

Bellatrix was not a patient woman. Ward-breaking had been a talent of her husband's, but he was rotting in Azkaban, even more useless to her than he usually was. Crouch's wards would take her hours to dismantle, by which time Crouch would already be fully aware of her efforts.

Fortunately, Bella had another way in.

Rolling up the sleeve of her thick winter robes, she caressed the Mark her lord had given her, touching his power and reaching through it to her brother in arms.

The answer was sharp and immediate, a desperate burning in her arm that both hurt and elated her. She reached out to the wards, pressing her Mark against them, and allowed the blood tie between Crouch and his son, and the bond between that son and her, to grant her entry.

In a moment, she was through, cackling into the growing darkness. Though she was still on the Muggle street, still surrounded by the same quaint Muggle houses, there was a sense of purpose all around her now, as if the night itself were watching. She breathed deeply and slid through the shadows, occasionally jumping up in a skip or a spin as the delight of thwarting Bartemius Crouch and his self-righteous convictions rushed through her.

She didn't need to look at the numbers on the houses to recognize his. It was as neat and quiet as all the others, but her Mark flared sharply, and she could sense the hidden power behind the wispy little curtains and the delicately frosted windows. She skipped up to the door without hesitation, waving her wand with casual grace and laughing again as the door splintered apart and warm lamp light emerged.

From within, there was a scream, high-pitched and pitiful, a woman's. Bella blazed into the house with her wand flashing, and in a moment the woman was dead.

She knew, without having to cast any spells, that Crouch, Sr. was not home. If he had been, he would have met her at the door, and perhaps his weak little wife would still be alive, if only for a few more minutes. As it was, Bellatrix allowed herself a moment's aching disappointment that she would likely not have the pleasure of killing the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement tonight.

She considered taking her time, knowing that he would come home sooner or later – perhaps sooner, if his wards informed him that poor little Mrs. Crouch was dead – but he might well appear with a brigade of Aurors in tow, and she didn't dare risk it. Not alone, not without her lord's permission.

No, she would fulfill the purpose he had entrusted to her, and save itty bitty Barty from his miserable father.

Decision made, she moved quickly through the house, blasting her way through doors with impatience and relish. Stiffly arranged family photographs crashed to the floor in her wake; some Crouch ancestor's Order of Merlin went up in cursed flames. On the fifth or sixth door, she came to a dark stairway leading downward, and heard a whimpering, fearful cry, strangely inhuman.

A house-elf, perhaps?

Bella descended the stairs a little more cautiously, although she didn't really think a house-elf would pose a threat unless it had been ordered to do so. Indeed, when she caught sight of the sniveling creature gazing up at her from the foot of the stairs, she couldn't help but laugh.

" _Avada –_ "

"Stop!"

Bellatrix cut off mid-spell, frowning into the seemingly empty cellar. " _Homenum Revelio!_ "

There, in the corner, invisible to the eye, was a human.

" _Accio Invisibility Cloak!"_ Bellatrix cried, and Barty Crouch, Jr. was revealed, bound hand and foot, dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Not Winky," he said. "She's been trying to help me."

Bellatrix found his loyalty to the elf both contemptible and entertaining, but conceded with a casual, " _Stupefy!_ " Elves could be useful, after all. And if Bellatrix couldn't kill Crouch herself, she might as well ensure that he could hear the story of his son's escape from a witness.

The elf dropped in a flash of red light, making no effort whatsoever to defend itself, had any defense even been possible. Bellatrix crossed the cellar to Barty's side and severed the ropes, resisting the urge to cut him a little in payment for his stupidity in allowing his father to capture him.

Punishment for that mistake would fall to the Dark Lord.

"Where is your wand?" she asked the boy.

He shook his head. "My father took it. He may have destroyed it. I don't know."

Bellatrix pursed her lips. A wandless Death Eater was little better than no Death Eater at all, but the Dark Lord would see to his punishment for that, as well.

She gave the boy a moment to rub the feeling back into his wrists and ankles. It was plain his father had been the one to bind him; Bella doubted the wispy witch upstairs would have been so harsh. When Barty was capable of moving again, she led him upstairs, enjoying the broken glass and splintered wood of the devastation she had caused there.

When they reached the sitting room where Bellatrix had murdered Mrs. Crouch, Barty stopped dead, his already pale face whitening dramatically.

"You killed her?" he said.

"Aww," Bellatrix said, "is little Barty sad for his mummy?"

The boy looked at her expressionlessly, though he still looked white enough to faint. "She was trying to free me."

Bella considered that for a moment. "Oops."

Barty looked down at his mother again, then stooped and picked up the woman's fallen wand. "Let's go."

Bellatrix grinned at him, tempted to Legilimize him to see just how much of his calm was a mask, but she knew from past attempts that his Occlumency shields were too powerful even for her. So instead she turned away, heart beating a little faster at the knowledge that he could strike her down in revenge even now, and fingers clasped tightly over her wand in preparation for it. But he followed her silently into the street.

"The Dark Lord is waiting," she said.

"Take me to him," Barty replied.


	50. Chapter 50

50

The sun was setting in blood-red fury over the hills as Hermione, Severus, and Snape wandered down the slushy street, Fiend watching the icy splashing of their feet from the safety of Snape's pocket. Hermione, who had never been particularly enamored of sunsets to begin with, couldn't help feeling a sharp jolt of unease at the hue of this one, though she couldn't have explained why. She felt nothing but contempt for the thought that it was _ominous,_ and yet the reddish stain spreading over cobblestones and windowpanes filled her with an anxiety that defied rational explanation. Perhaps it was only that she was startled to see another day end; between the hours Harry and James had spent in the cave, the time it had taken them to return to the tent, the frenzied rush of shoving potions down Harry's throat, and the destruction of the locket, the day had swept away from her, and the annoying hour she and Snape had just spent searching for their favorite, as-yet-nonexistent Muggle coffee shops and restaurants before settling on some random pub had somehow carried them all the way to dusk.

Another day gone. Another day in this strange world, far from home. Another day for her parents to worry, for Crookshanks to cling to his grudge against her, for her friendship with Ron to deteriorate. Another day of fear and worry and guilt.

The pub they had finally settled on had been noisy and, within minutes of their entry, crowded with the fans of some sports team or other (Hermione was, if possible, even more indifferent to Muggle sports than she was to Quidditch). She and her companions had eaten quickly, but the conversation she had hoped to have with them had been impossible. Both Snapes had spent the meal glaring disdainfully at the rowdy fans, while Hermione had fidgeted impatiently.

Now, finally, they might have a chance to talk. There was a library up ahead, closed by the looks of it, and she hastily led the two wizards up the stairs to its door and, with a quick " _Alohomora!_ " let them in.

"Breaking and entering, Miss Granger?" Snape asked.

She rolled her eyes, stomping the slush off her feet on the mat by the door. Severus and Snape watched her in silence for a moment, then dried their own boots with pointed waves of their wands, making her feel foolish when they arched their eyebrows in amusement.

"Old habits," she muttered.

The library was, of course, silent. They padded quietly to the tables and chairs in the center of the single room and sat down, Fiend wandering off into the shadowed stacks to explore.

"This is a rather small library," Snape said, looking around in disapproval.

"Never mind that," Hermione said, resisting the urge to lower her voice to the hushed whisper libraries usually inspired in her. "What are we going to do about James?"

"Is that why you've been fidgeting?" Snape asked, brow raised. "You need hardly concern yourself with Potter."

"What do you mean? Of course we need to be concerned about him! You can't really tell me you trust him not to – to – to _do_ something?"

Snape snorted. Hermione glared at him in real annoyance. "This is serious!"

"Miss Granger, what is it you are concerned he will do?"

She huffed, both irritated and involuntarily pleased that he was using his professorial tone on her. "He could tell people –"

"Who could he tell that does not already suspect?"

"Lily," she said immediately.

"And what is Lily likely to do with this knowledge?"

"I don't know!" Hermione exclaimed. "Tell her mother?"

"Her mother is already aware of the truth."

Hermione was taken aback. "She is?"

"Yes. She guessed that I was a time traveler, so I told her the truth – that we are from another reality."

Hermione stared at him, but it was Severus who said, "You told Mrs. Evans?"

"As I just said."

"How did she react?"

Snape hesitated, then said with excessive disdain, "Obviously, she did not feel the need to tell all and sundry."

"Lily might," Severus countered. "She'll tell Alice Longbottom, probably, who'll tell her husband, and then –"

"Then what?" Snape said. "Frank will tell Dumbledore. If not Frank, then Alice, or Lily, or Potter. And Dumbledore already suspects. So what further damage could be done?"

"This is James Potter we're talking about," Hermione said, exasperated that Snape, of all people, wasn't appalled by this. "What if he tries to find out how we did it, so he can go back in time?"

"He will fail," Snape said calmly.

"Well – yes, probably," she admitted, frowning. "But what if he doesn't? What if he finds out about the Gates?"

"The greatest danger of that," Snape said, "lies in _your_ Mr. Potter babbling the truth to his father. And I obtained his promise before we ever found you that he would not, under any circumstances, reveal any information about the Gates to any person in this world, regardless of any seeming advantages to doing so, regardless of any wrongs that might be righted, regardless of any deaths that might be prevented. He is aware that breaking this promise could bring about the end of all inhabitable universes."

Hermione might have drawn some amusement from the idea of Snape threatening Harry with the end of all reality, if she herself hadn't been so afraid of the consequences their actions would have. She had been rash, very rash, when she had first woken up in the Ministry and found herself in this strange, familiar world. She had acted without thinking, breaking all of her own rules – changing everything she possibly could in the interest of making this world better, all without regarding the potential damage she might cause to the space-time continuum, not to mention the fates of everyone she encountered. She didn't know for certain that the attack in Godric's Hollow had been her fault, but neither was she willing to believe it wasn't.

"The only other likely way the truth of our origins could be discovered is if Frank Longbottom discovers the Gate of Death during his initiation in Azkaban, as he did in our world. In the event that this occurs, he is likely to inform Dumbledore, who will assume that we used either the Gate of Time or the Gate of Worlds to come here. Yet even then, I ask you, what damage would that knowledge do? Do you think the headmaster will send us away, when we have so much information that could benefit him? And if he did force us to return to our world, we will hardly suffer for it – that is our eventual goal, anyway."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but what could she say? She _did_ want to go home, badly. But she wanted it to be on her own terms, and she certainly didn't want to be forced to leave this place, and all the people here, never to see them again. She didn't doubt Dumbledore _would_ force them to obey: after all, had he not forced Nicolas Flamel to condemn himself and his wife to death, for the greater good? Separating Harry from his parents, and Hermione from – well, from Severus – would no doubt seem mild in comparison, even if this Dumbledore hadn't actually condemned Nicolas Flamel to death _yet._

The idea of Dumbledore gaining control of the Gates was abhorrent, but Hermione didn't quite dare say so in front of Snape.

His younger self, though, had no such qualms. "Dumbledore will try to control the Gates," he said. "He'll decide who can use them and when, with no regard for anyone's opinion but his own."

Snape regarded him for several seconds before saying, "And how would you use them, if they were in your control? Or do you believe someone else should bear that responsibility?"

Hermione could see that Severus's train of thought was closely following her own: by rights, _no one_ should be using the Gates; they should have remained hidden, unknown and inaccessible to all. But they were _not_ hidden – not in her world, and soon probably not even in this one. So much power, and no right way to use it, and no right way to refuse to do so.

"You may dislike Dumbledore," Snape said, "but I do not think he would misuse the Gates –"

"Of course he would!" Hermione said, at the same moment Severus snorted.

Snape raised his eyebrows at both of them. "Explain your reasoning."

Hermione drew herself up. "Think of everything he did while we were in school! Training Harry to face Voldemort! First with Quirrel, then with the basilisk, then with the Time-Turner, and on and on! He arranged all of it – and who's to say he won't do it again? Even if we kill Voldemort, there will still be other dark lords, other prophecies, other wars! Dumbledore's always thought of the _greater good,_ but he never even considers that his opinion on the subject isn't the only valid one! I'm sorry, but there were dozens of better ways he could have won our war! If he had just asked someone else's opinion, instead of making all of those decisions by himself, more people might be alive! Instead he sent us on a yearlong quest to find Horcruxes and Hallows, manipulating us the whole time, and even though it worked out all right for _some_ of us, hundreds of other people – mostly Muggles and Muggleborns – died!"

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I know I'm not one to talk. I know what happened in Godric's Hollow might not have happened if I hadn't –"

"That was not your fault!" both Snapes exclaimed as one.

The concern in their eyes nearly made her burst into tears, but with an effort she got a hold of herself. "We don't know that," she said. "We don't know what would have happened. I was trying to help, but I didn't think it through, just like Dumbledore didn't! He planned and planned and planned, but he made those decisions _alone._ I'm sure if I hadn't been making _my_ decisions alone, then things would have gone better – we could have made a better plan, with all of us, than what I did when I was just turning Death Eaters in left and right, tearing down Voldemort's ranks by myself – I didn't _think,_ but you – sir, you know you would have done it differently!"

Snape looked pained. Severus, glancing between them, said, "You didn't make those decisions by yourself, Hermione. I was there, too, remember?"

"But you didn't _know,_ " she said, rubbing tears out of her eyes. "Neither of us knew! We're just nineteen! But there are things Dumbledore doesn't know, either, and he shouldn't be the only one making those decisions! What he did to us was _awful!_ And you know how he treated you – both of you – during _both_ wars – he was _wrong!_ What if he's wrong about someone else? What if he destroys some other life? What if someone else ends up joining a dark lord, or thrown in Azkaban, because he decided they were worthless?"

"Dumbledore is not responsible for the choices I made," Snape said.

"No, but he influenced them," Severus said, with a sharp glance at his older self. "Perhaps you've forgotten, after two decades of working for him, but I faced those choices only months ago. Dumbledore's actions _did_ influence me – his callous disregard for my life, his favoritism for his precious Gryffindor purebloods, his endangerment of everyone at school, his arrogance and deceit and hypocrisy. You can't tell me you weren't influenced by that as well. I know you were."

Snape hesitated, then said, "Be that as it may… my mistakes were my own."

"No one's saying they weren't," Hermione said. "But he made mistakes, too, and he could make more. We can't just hand the Gates over to him."

"Then what would you suggest?" Snape asked.

"I don't know!" she said, wringing her hands. "Part of me thinks we should destroy the Gates, or leave them at the bottom of the sea where no one can find them, but part of me thinks that what we're doing here _is_ right – that we _are_ helping, that we _are_ making things better – even if some people d-died – we _have_ made a difference! If we hadn't come here, what would have happened to Severus?"

"I'd still be in Azkaban," Severus said, in a low voice.

"Exactly! And that was _wrong,"_ she said fiercely. "Which means this has to be right!"

Snape gave her a wry smile. "You are thinking like a Gryffindor."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"There is no right or wrong," Snape said. "No black and white."

"There is _some_ black and white," Hermione insisted.

"Some," he agreed, "rarely. But not, I think, in this case."

"Then what would _you_ suggest? Aside from Dumbledore," she added with a scowl.

Snape threw up his hands, in a gesture that was more mimicry of surrender than a sign of any actual turmoil. "Is our presence here not evidence that reality is more flexible than we thought? We assumed stars would fall and galaxies would implode, but we have moved as easily within this world as we would have in our own. We have bled and healed, killed and saved, defied every notion of fate or predestination, and in consequence – nothing. This reality has responded to our actions exactly as our own would have done. The supposedly immutable flow of time, the so-called delicate balance, the inescapable threads of destiny, have been changed and broken and eluded, and I find it difficult not to conclude that our concepts of the nature of space and time, of reality, of all existence, are simply – incorrect."

"Incorrect?" Hermione echoed.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Incorrect. Either fate and destiny are the threads of a web so vast and complex it encompasses all realities, all time streams, all possibilities, and all possible changes and manipulations of those possibilities, or – fate simply does not exist, and reality is as chaotic, lawless, and senseless as the cynics have always assumed."

"Then you think," Hermione said, considering his words, "that either all of time and existence is structured in such a way that, no matter how much we seem to violate the natural laws by moving backward through time and between realities, we're still only acting in accordance with the laws that _really_ exist – what you're calling "fate and destiny" – which are so far beyond anything we've hitherto imagined that every possible action on our parts, including the manipulation of space and time, is still only a part of the inescapable, immutable web in which we're all caught – _or,_ there are no rules whatsoever, and we can do whatever we want?"

"That is my conclusion," Snape said. "But I am of course limited by my human mind. There may be other more logical explanations that are beyond my capacity to understand or conceive."

"But your conclusion," Hermione pressed, "is that no matter what we do, we're not going to destroy the multiverse?"

"Present evidence suggests we will not. We are, perhaps, more insignificant than we had previously imagined."

Hermione folded her arms. "Which is why you're not taking the problem of James Potter seriously?"

"Once the risk of interuniversal annihilation is eliminated, I think he poses little threat."

"And what if you are wrong?" Severus asked.

"Wrong?" his older self asked.

"What if, in coming here, you _have_ brought about the destruction of the multiverse, and we simply haven't felt the effects yet? The light of the sun doesn't reach us for eight full minutes. How much greater a distance will the end of the universe have to travel, if it begins unraveling from the edges – or from the center – or from another reality altogether? I see no reason to assume the destruction would be instantaneous."

They contemplated this in uncomfortable silence for several moments.

"Then you think we _have_ destroyed the universe?" Hermione asked in quiet horror.

Severus shrugged. "I merely think the possibility should not be dismissed."

"But what can we do about it?" Hermione asked, clutching her face. "What can we do about _any_ of it? How can we even decide?"

"I think you are both forgetting," Snape said, "that Ekrizdis used the Gates. And, unless you believe he created them, they had likely been used by others before, perhaps even centuries or millennia before. Indeed, it is not even certain that the Gates were created in our reality, or by an inhabitant of our reality. Perhaps they were created in another world, and simply appeared in every reality, as those realities were bridged. Or perhaps the same witch or wizard lived in each of these realities, and created the same Gates, under the same circumstances, and only those realities in which that creator successfully forged the Gates are connected. But the Guardian of the Gate of Worlds suggested that all possibilities could be accessed, which suggests the Gates exist in every reality. In either case, the laws which govern our universes, if indeed there are laws that are limited to single universes, were broken long before any of us were born, perhaps long before our language was spoken or our civilizations founded. If the destruction of all existence is caused by the violation of such laws, then it was triggered long ago. We certainly were not the first to do so."

"So it doesn't matter?" Hermione asked. "Either we're already doomed, or there are no rules, or there are rules and we're not breaking them?"

"That is my conclusion," Snape said again.

"Maybe this is all a dream," Severus muttered.

"There is no definite evidence to the contrary," Snape said.

"Oh, please," Hermione said, impatient now. "That's the sort of thing Trelawney would say. Of course this is real, and of course everything we do matters! I just don't know how any of us can _choose,_ without _answers._ "

"That question has no doubt plagued countless philosophers, known and unknown, throughout the ages."

"Yes, but we're not just speaking philosophically, are we? We have access to the Gates, and in a matter of days everyone might know about them, and we need to have a _plan._ "

"But if everything is predetermined, do we need a plan?" Severus asked.

She glared at him, and he smirked.

" _Why_ are you two not taking this _seriously?_ " she huffed.

"Because, Miss Granger, we have meddled in matters far beyond any of our comprehension. And, as you pointed out, we do not have the answers."

"That doesn't mean there's no point in _thinking_ about them!"

"Of course not," Snape agreed, "but there _isn't_ a point in panicking."

"I'm not panicking!"

Two identical sets of black brows arched at her, and she scowled from one to the other of the Snapes, not sure which of them was annoying her more, and annoyed with herself for the rush of affection she felt for those mocking eyebrows, and for these exasperating men.

"Aren't you even a little bit _alarmed?_ " she demanded.

"By what? The prospect of imminent multiversal collapse? Or the prospect of making a mistake?"

"I – well – either, I suppose."

"If the multiverse is on the brink of destruction, there is nothing we can do to stop it, and there is no point in worrying about it," Snape said. "However, I assume we can all agree that we should proceed as if we are _not_ on that brink, in which case the second prospect is by far the more relevant. It is, I believe, an area in which you, Miss Granger, have little experience."

"I…" She frowned at him, unsure whether he was mocking or complimenting her.

"I am simply observing," he said, "that you have rarely made mistakes in your life, and that those you have made have, for the most part, been easily remedied. This is in no small part due to your obsessive terror of making mistakes and the lengths to which you will go to avoid doing so."

"I am not _obsessively terrified!_ "

"You are," he argued. "Is that not the impetus for this entire conversation? You have been acting as best you are able, these past two weeks, but you recognize that you may have made mistakes, and that you may well make many more – worse, perhaps, than those you may have made so far. You have been acting on limited information, in a world not your own, with virtually no direction from anyone, and you have shouldered the burden of ending a war and overturning corrupt and unjust laws - in short, of fixing this world. You are, naturally, terrified that you will not succeed. Yet I think all of this would be more bearable to you, if you could only have the assurance that you have not, simply by existing in this reality, rendered all of your hopes for it unachievable."

Hermione felt her fear, so carefully – perhaps obsessively – contained, expand at his words, a painful tearing in her chest.

"You have always had the advantage," Snape said, "of knowing that you had chosen to do the right thing. Every difficulty you have faced has been a problem you knew yourself capable of solving, because you believe, Miss Granger, that achieving the _right_ thing is _always_ possible. And now, for the first time, you are being forced to question that. For the first time, you have no idea what the _right_ thing is."

"Because I don't understand the rules!" she burst out. "If I just _knew –_ "

"But you don't," Snape said. "Nor will you ever, in this life, I think."

"But how am I supposed to make decisions?" she asked helplessly.

"The same way you always have."

"But –"

"No buts."

"There are hundreds of buts!" she cried. "If the multiverse is going to be destroyed, or if everything is predetermined, or if there are no rules – it _changes_ things! I might make different decisions!"

"Would you?" Severus asked, regarding her intently. "If everything is going to be destroyed, will you stop doing what you believe in?"

"Well – no, of course not, but –"

"If your path is already laid out, through time and space and whatever else, will you stop doing what you believe in?"

"That's not –"

"If there are no rules, will you stop doing what you believe in?"

"No!" she snapped. "But –"

"As my older self said – there are no buts. Either you do what you believe in, or you don't."

"But what if what I believe _changes?_ " she demanded.

Both Snapes crossed their arms and arched their eyebrows, then glanced at each other, as if to ask which of them wanted to go first. After a moment, Severus asked, "In what way?"

"How could I know? I don't know the rules anymore!"

"Will you stop believing in right and wrong?" Snape asked. "Will you abandon your ideals of justice for all?"

"No, but –"

"Will you stop loving the people you love?" Severus asked.

"No, but –"

"Will you stop knitting clothes for house-elves?" Snape asked.

"You are not taking this seriously!"

"On the contrary, I am taking this very seriously," Snape said.

Severus leaned back. "We merely find it improbable that _your_ nature will change, no matter how the nature of reality might be redefined."

"I don't live in a void," she snapped. "Reality does affect me."

"Perhaps," Snape said. "But I think it far more likely that _you_ will change _reality,_ than that reality will change you."

She frowned at him, irrationally flattered, though he reminded her in that moment very much of Harry and Ron, and their limitless faith in her abilities.

"You mistake me," he said, smiling slightly. "I am not suggesting that you are more powerful than reality. Only that, from everything we have witnessed, it would seem that reality is far more fluid than we had expected – far more fluid, I think, than our souls."

Hermione had never really liked talking about _souls,_ as it was then impossible not to think about religion, which she had never understood. But it was true, of course, that souls were immensely powerful things, divisible only by heinous acts or heinous creatures. And that division _felt_ wrong – the Horcruxes, the Dementors – in a way that the Gates, she had to admit, did not. The Gate of Death had unnerved her, badly, but it had not repulsed her the way Horcruxes and Dementors did. And the Gate of Worlds was more fascinating than anything.

Yet the idea that reality was by nature fluid, messy, changeable, was disturbing. Reality was supposed to be solid, the firm framework within which all existence could unfold. Yet existence was itself chaotic, convoluted, and horribly messy. Was it so unreasonable to consider that the framework within which it resided might be equally messy?

"I don't like it," she muttered.

Snape chuckled. Severus said, "I do."

"You do?" she asked, incredulous.

"It's like I've been living in a cage," he said, "and suddenly I've realized it was never there."

She frowned, then said, "I feel like I was living in a house, and a hurricane knocked it down."

The men both snorted.

"And you?" Hermione asked the older Snape.

"I feel liberated," he said. "My life has always been plagued by the absence of possibilities. Perhaps now I will finally have a chance to discern their presence."

"Before the universe implodes?" she asked, unable to resist.

"That is one possibility," he acknowledged. "A very interesting one, I might add."

Hermione wanted to disagree with him, but she supposed, from an objective perspective, it _would_ be interesting. Terrible, but interesting.

"Still," Snape said, "I think that is the unlikeliest of the three theories we discussed."

"You do?" she asked. "Why?"

"The laws of our universe, as far as we have always understood them, are inviolable. If a law can be violated, the natural conclusion is that the law was incorrect, or incomplete. It is pure arrogance to believe that we mere humans have the power to break unbreakable boundaries."

"So you think there are laws?" Hermione asked. "Laws that allow all of this?"

"I do."

"But you said you thought that meant it was destiny – that we're all in an inescapable web!"

"Not necessarily," Snape said. "Although I think that is the likeliest of the possibilities we discussed."

"But then why would you feel liberated?"

"I always assumed I was caught in the web like a fly," he replied. "But now I wonder if we are not, perhaps, the spiders."

"But spiders make the web."

"Precisely. Obeying the laws of their nature, and of the nature of the web, they spin and weave and bend the web to their will. The web is not damaged by this, merely changed. And in the vast expanse of the web, stretching through time and space, patterns emerge – destiny, if you will."

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Or perhaps only the illusion of destiny," Snape said, with a small smile.

"All of this could be wrong," Hermione said.

"It could be," Snape said, smiling wider. "You will have to resign yourself to that, Miss Granger. Although I begin to suspect that you might excel as an Unspeakable when we return to our world."

She shuddered. "And spend my life asking unanswerable questions? I'd lose my mind."

"Anyway," Severus said, glancing at his older self, "she'll be too busy ruling the world."

Snape snorted in acknowledgement.

Hermione lifted her chin indignantly. "I don't plan to rule the world!"

"Just Britain?" Severus asked.

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it. She couldn't pretend she had never thought about it, after all.

The two men, watching her shifting expressions, broke into grins, Severus's broader and younger, Snape's obviously reluctant, but no less genuine. Hermione wanted to be annoyed at the sight, but seeing either of them smile was rare enough (and in Snape's case, almost unheard of) that she couldn't stop herself from appreciating their amusement, even if it was at her expense.

And, though it was foolish, she _was_ flattered at their continued insistence that she might one day rule over wizards. Perhaps they were only mocking her, or at least mocking her admittedly sometimes unreasonable need to be in control, but she suspected that if she ever _did_ decide to pursue a career in public office, they would support her.

 _They?_ No, she reminded herself – it would only be Snape. Severus wouldn't be there. He would be stuck here, with some other ambitious witch or wizard making a bid to rule the country, to his admiration or disdain. He would never know if she had become Minister or not. And she would never know what had become of him.

She blinked away a sudden onslaught of tears.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Severus said in quick alarm. Even Snape looked dismayed.

"You didn't," she said, wiping her tears away impatiently. "Oh, what are we going to do? We can't destroy them, we just can't!"

Something strange flickered in Snape's eyes, and he glanced between them before settling his gaze on Hermione with an understanding that made her blush.

"There is no need to decide tonight," he said.

"But we _will_ have to decide," she said, sniffling. "Soon. You know we will. We can't just leave everything to chance."

"Or to Dumbledore," Severus muttered.

Their gazes met, and she knew in a sudden warm flash that he was thinking exactly what she was thinking: that if Dumbledore gained control of the Gates, they would never see each other again.

"Patience," Snape said. "It is not even certain that the Gates will be discovered. At present Potter believes we are from the future. I think it would be wise to continue encouraging that dunderheaded deduction."

Hermione started. "Is _that_ what you were doing?"

Snape arched a brow at her. "Did you think I was merely entertaining myself by tormenting an old bully?"

"Well… yes."

"Miss Granger, a Slytherin never has only _one_ motive for any action." He paused. "Although I do not deny that my entertainment was, in this case, the primary one."

Reluctantly, Hermione grinned. "I think Ginny's rubbing off on you."

"I resent the implication that I cannot entertain myself without her influence."

"I know you can," Hermione said. "I watched you unfairly deduct points from Gryffindor for six years."

"No point deduction from Gryffindor can possibly be considered unfair," Snape countered. "You were always breaking some rule or other, whether I caught you or not."

"And the Slytherins weren't?"

"Just because I unfairly chose _not_ to punish them does not mean my punishment of _you_ was unfair."

She glared at him, both amused and outraged.

"You did set a teacher on fire," Severus reminded her helpfully.

Hermione blushed fiercely under Snape's curious gaze. "Which teacher?" he asked, smirking. "Umbridge, I assume?"

"Er – no," she said, not meeting his eye.

"Lockhart? No, I forgot, you were enamored of him –"

"I was thirteen!"

"I cannot imagine it was an accident, not with your talent for fire. So then who?"

She drew herself up, though she still couldn't meet his gaze. "It's not really relevant."

She saw him stiffen suddenly, and could practically feel the incredulity radiating off him. "It was _you!_ "

"Impressive, isn't she?" Severus asked, obviously barely suppressing a laugh.

Hermione glared at him, only to find Snape glaring at her. "You set me on fire!" he exclaimed. "You little beast!"

Severus's meager efforts to contain his laughter ceased altogether at that, but to Hermione's astonishment, Snape's glare collapsed into a wide grin, and the library echoed strangely with their nearly identical laughs. It was wonderful and surreal, to be alone in this unknown place with two versions of Severus Snape, both helpless with amusement. If she had known, at twelve, that the man she was setting on fire would one day sit across from her in a foreign world with his other self and laugh at her childish crimes, well, she would probably have checked herself into St. Mungo's.

"How you could dare…" Snape gasped out, still shaking with mirth. "In all my years of teaching… And of all people, _you,_ who spent every lesson desperately trying to earn my approval!"

"Obviously you should have given it," Severus said.

"You wretched girl," Snape said, eyeing her with unmistakable admiration. "If I had known, I would not have dared to give you an Acceptable on that essay in your fifth year."

Hermione, though still blushing, nonetheless managed a huff of disbelief. "If you had known, I would have been expelled."

"Nonsense," Snape said. "I would have demanded your expulsion in public, of course, but I assure you, in the privacy of my own chambers I would have drunk to your health."

"You would have been drinking a healing potion, I assume," Severus said.

"It was just for a few seconds!" Hermione cried.

"A few seconds' incineration – nothing to worry about, I'm sure."

"I didn't _incinerate_ him. _Honestly._ "

They grinned at her, and again, though they were mocking her, she felt a warm glow, not of humiliation, but of affection.

It was irrational. They were in the middle of a war, playing with forces they both did and did not understand, wreaking havoc with reality and with people's lives, and yet, though people had died because of them, though they had all killed in the battle at Godric's Hollow, though their lives were a frenzy of terror and madness, Hermione felt as though something had grown in them all – not only in her and the Snapes, but in Harry and Ginny as well – a sense of companionship and ease with each other that the last war had never given them, a trust far deeper than what Hermione and Harry had managed with Ron. Stranded in a universe far from home, Hermione felt less alone now than she had – perhaps ever.

She was certain that Snape and Severus both felt it, too. They could trust each other, and work together, and no matter what horrors followed, they would not be alone.


	51. Chapter 51

50

For the second night in a row, Regulus had a house-elf in his bed.

For a few seconds, deeply preoccupied with thoughts of the Dark Lord and the locket and the potion, he didn't realize the elf standing at the foot of his bed, half-concealed within the bed hangings, wasn't Kreacher. He had sent Kreacher home that morning, after a couple of pitchers of water and a few hours of sleep had seemed to significantly improve his condition, but Kreacher's presence, after the horror he had endured, seemed so natural that Regulus barely glanced at him.

"How are you feeling, Kreacher?" he asked, climbing into bed and pulling the hangings shut around him, the usual Silencing Charms in place.

"Dobby is not Kreacher, sir," the elf said in a very squeaky voice, and Regulus started so badly he banged his elbow against the headboard.

"Dobby!" he exclaimed, trying to place the familiar name. "You're – you're the Malfoys' elf?"

Dobby's ears twitched. Now that Regulus was looking at him, he could see there was very little resemblance at all between this bulbous-eyed creature and his rather more dignified-looking Kreacher.

"Dobby is free," he said.

"Free?" Regulus said, half-scandalized, half-astonished. "The Malfoys freed you?"

"Auror Moody tricked Master Malfoy into giving Dobby clothes," the elf said, with what Regulus would have thought was pride, if the disgrace of being freed hadn't rendered that impossible.

Then the full meaning of the elf's statement sunk in, and Regulus reached for the wand on his bedside table. "The Aurors sent you?"

"No, sir. Dobby is coming himself. Dobby is hearing about how Regulus Black is treating his house-elf, sir, and Dobby is wanting to offer his help!"

Regulus stared at him. Was the elf mad? How had he heard about Kreacher? Did Kreacher know this elf? Had he perhaps sent him to Regulus to be bound to their family?

"Dobby is knowing that Regulus Black cares about his house-elf, sir," Dobby said, lowering his voice to a hushed squeak. "Dobby is hearing about the potion, and Dobby is knowing Regulus Black would have drunk it for his elf, if he had been able to."

Regulus blinked. He had never considered the matter in quite those terms, but yes, of course, if he had been given the choice of taking Kreacher's place, he would have accepted in a heartbeat.

The elf in front of him seemed cheered by this very thought. "So Dobby is saying to himself, if Regulus Black is going to turn against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then Dobby can help!"

Regulus gaped at him. "Turn against – I'm not – I wouldn't –" He wondered suddenly, with horror, if the elf had been sent there to coerce him into saying something treasonous. "I'm loyal to the Dark Lord!"

Dobby eyed him carefully for a few moments, then winked. "Dobby is knowing Regulus Black would not betray the things he believes in," he said, and winked again.

Regulus felt distinctly unnerved. What was the elf getting at? Was this a trick? But whose? The elf was plainly free – Regulus could see a variety of ill-knitted but very warm-looking articles of clothing covering his scrawny body – but that didn't mean he had stopped serving the Malfoys. For all Regulus knew, the elf had taken himself straight to the Dark Lord after Malfoy had freed him.

But then, why would the Dark Lord have needed Kreacher?

But who else could have sent him? The Aurors? It didn't seem like their style, not even Moody's, although admittedly Regulus had heard Moody could occasionally be a bit mad.

"How do you know about the potion?" he asked.

"Dobby is hearing his friends talking about it, sir! Two of them drank it –"

"The Dark Lord's given it to other elves?" Regulus asked, startled and angry.

"No, sir, Dobby's friends are wizards. Well," he amended, "one of the wizards who drank the potion is Dobby's friend. The other is James Potter, who Dobby is disliking, sir."

" _James Potter_ drank the potion?" Regulus exclaimed.

"Yes, sir. And Dobby's friend Harry."

 _Harry?_ Regulus searched his memory, trying to remember any associate of Potter's named Harry, but without success. "Who is Harry?"

"Harry is Hermione Granger's friend!"

"Who is Hermione Granger?"

"Hermione Granger is helping Auror Moody free Dobby!" the elf said, and this time there was no mistaking it: the elf was absolutely _delighted_ to be free. "She is making Dobby's clothes!" He plucked at the poorly knitted garments he was wearing. "And she is going to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he added, evidently as an afterthought.

"She – wait a moment." Regulus frowned. "Was she in the Hogwarts library with Snape a week or so ago?"

"Dobby expects so, sir. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are great friends, and they are both loving books! They promised to teach Dobby to read!"

Regulus was momentarily distracted by the image of Severus Snape sitting with this house-elf in his lap, reading children's stories and sounding out vowels, his deep voice mingling with the elf's painfully shrill squeak. The picture was both hilarious and deeply disturbing.

Shaking loose the thought, Regulus asked, "Why was Hermione Granger's friend Harry drinking the Dark Lord's potion?"

"They were looking for the locket, sir."

Regulus felt a jolt of surprise and interest. "They know about the locket? What is it?"

"One of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Horcruxes, sir."

"One of…" Regulus sank back into his pillows, staring at the elf as his mind raced. A Horcrux. The Dark Lord had made a _Horcrux._ No, not _a_ Horcrux. More than one, if the elf was to be believed.

The Dark Lord had split his soul _multiple_ times.

Involuntarily, Regulus gripped his chest, as if he could reach inside it and feel the soul within. The Dark Arts had always fascinated him, of course – every Slytherin, and certainly every Death Eater, explored them at some point or other – but to split the soul apart –

A shudder racked his frame. How _could_ he?

It was unnatural. It was not only a subversion of all that was meant to be, it was perverse. To bind the soul to this realm, the physical realm, the realm of mud and filth and corruption, forever, with no hope of moving on, of transcending to higher planes of magical and spiritual existence – it was worse than leaving a ghost behind. The Dark Lord might as well have lowered himself into the muck to crawl with the worms and cockroaches, soulless and unchanging, forever condemned to this mortal state. Of all the fates a wizard could fear, only the Dementor's Kiss would be worse than this.

"Do they – Hermione and Snape and the others – know how many Horcruxes there are?"

"Yes, sir. There were five to begin with, sir, but there is only one left now."

"Only one left?"

"Yes, sir. The others are all being destroyed!"

Regulus, confused by the elf's misuse of tense, clarified, "They've already been destroyed?"

"Yes, sir. The locket is being destroyed just a few hours ago."

"Do they know where the last one is?"

Dobby's ears dropped. "Not yet, sir, but they is looking for it!"

Regulus considered this, and everything else the elf had said. "How did you know about Kreacher drinking the potion?"

Dobby's ears drooped even lower. "They is knowing what would happen to Kreacher, sir. Hermione Granger and her friends were arguing about it for more than an hour. Hermione Granger was wanting to save Kreacher before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could make him drink the potion, but her friends were saying they were not able to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named until all the Horcruxes are destroyed."

Regulus wondered who this Hermione Granger was, and why she would consider dueling the Dark Lord to save a house-elf she didn't even know.

"What is the last Horcrux?" he asked.

"A cup, sir, one of Helga Hufflepuff's. Is Regulus Black ever seeing such a cup when he is meeting with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

The elf was all subtlety, Regulus reflected, and wondered what could have convinced the creature so thoroughly that Regulus was no longer loyal enough to the Dark Lord to immediately drag a brazen elf like Dobby into his presence for judgment.

"No," Regulus said. "I've never seen a cup."

Dobby looked disappointed. Regulus asked, "How was it you were intending to help me?"

"Dobby could carry messages for Regulus Black!" Dobby said, perking up instantly. "Regulus Black is alone, and friendless, and no one is there to help him besides Kreacher, and Kreacher is not knowing the Order of the Phoenix like Dobby is! Dobby could be making sure the Order of the Phoenix will help Regulus Black, and that Regulus Black will be helping the Order of the Phoenix!"

"Helping them how?" Regulus asked warily.

Dobby looked serious suddenly. "If He-Who-Must-Be-Named is planning another attack, Regulus Black could be telling Dobby. Or if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named seemed to realize his Horcruxes are being destroyed, or if he is making new ones."

"How would I know if he made a new one?" Regulus asked, disturbed by the very thought.

"Dobby is not knowing," Dobby said. "But Regulus Black could be looking for the cup!"

Regulus imagined snooping around the Dark Lord's cave, and shivered. He didn't think of himself as a coward, but neither was he reckless.

Still… if an opportunity arose to assist in the Dark Lord's downfall, was he not obligated, by his loyalty to Kreacher and even to himself, to take it? And if all he did was provide the Order with information…

He shook himself. What was he thinking? Provide the Order of the Phoenix with information? Through this elf – who, it was plain to see, did not have half of Kreacher's sense or discretion?

And yet the help of the Order could be indispensable if the Dark Lord discovered Kreacher's survival, and chose to hunt him, or to punish Regulus for hiding him, and for knowing about the locket.

Regulus hesitated, then said, "How would I contact you?"

"Dobby can listen for Regulus Black to call him, sir. And Dobby brought Regulus Black this." He reached into his knitted clothes and withdrew a golden coin.

"A Galleon?" Regulus asked, puzzled.

"'Tis a special Galleon, sir. The Order of the Phoenix is using them for communicating and warning each other of attacks. Hermione Granger is making them herself."

Regulus took the coin and examined it. It looked like a regular Galleon, but a quick _Revelio_ revealed a complex matrix of spells, more complex indeed than Regulus was capable of deciphering.

"All right, Dobby," he said. "How does it work?"

* * *

By the time Moody arrived at Crouch's house, dawn was creeping in pale, eerie tendrils across the sky. Robards and Savage were already there, and he could see from one look at the latter's face that things were bad.

"Mrs. Crouch is dead," she said, meeting him in the frozen front garden, outside the splintered door where Robards stood watch.

"I heard," Moody said.

"There's more," she warned. "There's a dead house-elf."

Moody grimaced. "They killed a woman. Why not an elf?"

" _They_ didn't kill her. Crouch did."

That pulled Moody up short. He took a moment to examine the grim lines in Savage's face, and realized they weren't all lines of sympathy for the man inside. Indeed, Moody could detect traces of the same disgust that had been growing in many of the Aurors since Crouch had authorized the use of the Unforgivables, and which had swelled to new proportions in the wake of the Godric's Hollow attack, when two teenagers had been forced to marry and another had been thrown in Azkaban, despite their heroism in defending the church and the wedding guests.

"Something has to be done," Savage said, in a low voice that quivered with what Moody thought might have been rage.

He knew what she meant; Crouch was going too far. Murdering a house-elf wasn't likely to get him anything more than contempt from the higher-ups (and perhaps not even that), but if things kept going the way they were, Crouch was going to hurt another innocent, a human innocent, maybe, and someone needed to put a stop to this before that happened.

That someone, as Savage was none too subtly hinting, was going to have to be him.

He nodded at her in agreement, wondering as he did so how he could pull this off. Crouch was evidently unfit for duty, but how to prove it?

"Mrs. Crouch's wand is missing," Robards said in a low voice as Moody climbed the front steps. "And we found his son's snapped wand in a warded box in the bedroom."

"His son's wand?" Moody asked, surprised.

"Barty was pulled from school after that Granger girl's accusation, remember," Robards said. "Looks like Crouch brought him home, snapped his wand –"

Crouch appeared suddenly in the shattered door frame behind him. "How I discipline my son for bringing shame on his family is my business."

His voice was cold, as curt as ever, but there was a haggard look in his eyes Moody hadn't seen before. Whatever other flaws Crouch had (and he had many), he had loved his wife, and the loss must be tearing at him.

But he was composed as he continued, "Your presence is no longer required, Aurors. I wish to arrange for my wife's funeral."

"And your elf?" Moody asked.

Crouch eyed him coolly. "The elf's body will be disposed of."

"What about your son?"

"My son is a fugitive Death Eater," Crouch said, with loathing. "He will be lucky to escape the Dementor's Kiss when he is found."

"A Death Eater, huh?" Moody said. "Then why wasn't he in Azkaban?"

It was an icy morning, but Moody felt the temperature plummet to an almost unbearable degree as Crouch's eyes narrowed. Instinctively, Moody tightened his grip on his wand.

"As I said," Crouch replied, "how I discipline my son is my business."

Moody could think of only one way to get Crouch taken out of the field, and though he loathed the idea of it, the idea of Crouch roaming free in this state, unleashing the Dementor's Kiss on all and sundry, was far more loathsome.

So he said, "Seems to me your brand of discipline got your wife killed."

Moody had expected Crouch to snap. What he had not expected were the gleaming tears that suddenly shone in the man's eyes.

He felt a moment's shame and guilt, a drop in his stomach as he realized the depth of his mistake.

Then Crouch lifted his wand and said, " _Crucio._ "

Moody, even seized with guilt, was quick – but what would once have been an easy dodge to the side was now a staggering fall as his wooden leg scraped against the steps. The curse hit him mid-air, and he hit the ground with a hoarse scream that cut off as the wind was knocked out of him. For a brief moment, he lay caught in breathless agony, unable to gasp or scream or do anything but drown in excruciating panic.

Then a voice cried, " _Stupefy!_ " and the pain ended, and he found himself gasping for breath.

"Merlin, Moody," Robards said. "We didn't mean you needed to get yourself _Crucioed._ "

"All part of the plan," he grunted, though it hadn't been. He waved off the extended hand Robards had proffered and climbed awkwardly to his feet, only narrowly resisting the urge to curse his wretched wooden leg.

"Well, that's that," Savage said, staring down at Crouch's unconscious form. "Attacking a colleague under his direct supervision, using an Unforgivable on someone other than a Death Eater, obstructing justice by hiding his son… I think that'll do it, don't you?"

"Damn well better," Moody growled, rubbing his aching back. "All right, take him in. I want a look around."

"Check the cellar," Robards said. "He didn't want us going down there."

"Got it," Moody said, stepping aside as they hauled Crouch's unconscious form down the steps and into the street. "I'll be there soon… just recovering from that Unforgivable my boss cast on me, you know…"

"You're understandably traumatized," Robards said.

"You might need to seek medical attention," Savage added.

"I might," Moody muttered, rubbing his back again. He'd have a bruise, that was certain.

The house had been wrecked, pictures blasted off the walls, doors blown apart. Moody couldn't be sure Crouch, Jr. hadn't done it, but judging from the angle of the spells, Moody thought the front door had been blasted inward, by an intruder from outside. How he – or she, more likely, considering the identity of the one Death Eater they knew was still by the Dark Lord's side – had gotten past Crouch's wards was a mystery, but Moody was fairly certain she had.

Mrs. Crouch, he suspected, had been killed within seconds after the intrusion began. She had died quickly, without torture or interrogation. She had simply been in the way.

The elf was in far rougher shape, but whether the lacerations and bruising covering her tiny body were due to Crouch's cruelty or to punishments she had inflicted on herself prior to Crouch's arrival was difficult to say, though Moody suspected the latter. Crouch was a hard, dangerous man, but it was difficult to imagine him beating a house-elf to a pulp before killing her. No, he had come home, found his wife dead and his son missing, and the poor little house-elf scratching up her face in misery and guilt, and had cast the _Avada Kedavra_ as soon as he'd ascertained what had happened.

But that had all happened later. Bellatrix Lestrange, if Bellatrix it had been, had murdered Mrs. Crouch and proceeded to devastate the rest of the house, all while searching for her little Death Eater in distress. Moody found the cellar door at the end of her swathe of destruction, blasted apart, its splinters scattered down the stairs into darkness.

Descending carefully on his wooden leg, Moody took in the scene: the severed ropes, the limp folds of an Invisibility Cloak, the stub of a candle that must have been the only illumination Barty was allowed.

So, then, Crouch had dragged his son out of school, snapped his wand in two, and tied him up in the basement under an Invisibility Cloak.

Moody shook his head, appalled and puzzled. Had Crouch feared that the scandal would harm his career? Had he hoped to interrogate his son in the privacy of their home? Or had Mrs. Crouch perhaps persuaded him to spare her child from Azkaban, even if it meant forcefully confining him for Merlin knew how long?

Or had Crouch simply snapped, long before Moody had pushed him into doing so openly?

Moody had seen criminals make illogical, outrageous decisions that in their minds had seemed rational and justified, but he would have expected years as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would have given Crouch a clear idea of what _not_ to do.

Yet this…

Madness.

Moody lurched his way back up the stairs. Bellatrix and Barty would have come this way… Barty would have seen his mother, perhaps already knowing she was dead, perhaps not, if Bellatrix had wanted to toy with him… He had taken her wand to replace his own… And then they had left.

To join Voldemort, no doubt.

And now, having freed one of his loyal servants, Moody could only imagine the Dark Lord intended to free the rest.

* * *

Barty Crouch, Jr. knelt before his lord, the faint violet glow of the cavern casting his shadow in eerie flickers of darkness over the rough stone walls. Even without gazing into his lord's scarred eyes, Barty could sense his satisfaction, his relief, and his eagerness to determine whether this servant, who had allowed himself to be confined, was still of use.

"My lord," Bellatrix whispered, "I found him bound beneath an Invisibility Cloak in the cellar, guarded by a house-elf. His father was not there. I could not kill him for you. But he will regret defying you, my lord. I have seen to it."

"No doubt the loss of his son will disappoint him," the Dark Lord said.

"Not only his son, my lord. I left his wife dead on the floor."

"Indeed?"

Barty felt the weight of the Dark Lord's gaze settle on him. "I must offer you my condolences, Barty."

Barty felt the mockery in his lord's voice, as well as the searching force behind his words. He had expected this. How could he not? Bellatrix had murdered his mother – for fun, he didn't doubt – and now Barty's loyalty to the cause was, naturally, in question.

"She was weak," he said quietly, truthfully. "She sought to protect me from my father, but always too little, too late. Her love for him weakened her... and her love for me blinded her to my true loyalties, my lord."

"Then you will not mourn her?"

Barty hesitated. "I cared for her as I might have cared for a pet, a timid, feeble thing capable of affection and kindness, but not worthy of my trust or regard. I will mourn her, but her loss will not weaken me. She would not have survived in the world we intend to build. She could not even survive this one."

He knew at once that his cold honesty had pleased the Dark Lord. The weight of his gaze lifted, and Barty felt the pressure on his mind subside.

"Mourning is a weakness," the Dark Lord said, "but one which, after today, you will not suffer again, I think. There are no others whose death would grieve you, are there?"

"No," Barty said, not thinking of Winky. "Only yours, my lord, but you have conquered death, you told us."

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed, his voice sharp with pleasure rather than anger. "Yes, I have experimented. I believe there are none who could kill me now. One day, my servants, if you please your lord, you will share in this gift… But you will have to work long and hard before that day comes. And you have failed me by your absence. _Crucio!_ "

The violet shadows twitched and slashed across the walls, for seconds, minutes, hours, Barty didn't know. His lord was pleased, but not so pleased he would allow Barty to forget the mistakes he had made. Barty had expected this – had thought of it in the long hours under the Invisibility Cloak, not with dread but with resignation.

When it was finally over, and his lord had dismissed him to recover his strength, Barty strode alone from the cave and stood at its entrance, looking out at the dawn and snow. He was tired in body and heart, aching and bruised, but his mind was clear.

Seeing his mother lying dead on the floor had, in the first moment, filled him with a shock and rage that he could barely contain. His mother, frail and pitiful, had looked like a faded doll discarded carelessly into the wreckage of the room. He had wanted to kneel beside her; he had wanted to murder Bellatrix. But in the next moment, he had discovered that there was no grief in his rage, only indignation that Bellatrix had dared to lay a finger on his mother. If his mother had died in her bed, wasted from whatever ailment or despair her loveless marriage had inflicted on her, would he have grieved?

Or would he have simply been relieved?

He had worried about his mother often since taking the Mark. The Dark Lord did not tolerate weakness in his followers, and Barty knew she was a weakness. Anyone who had ever laid eyes on her knew she was a weakness. Barty would have fought to protect her, but because he pitied her, not because he valued her. His father had married, impregnated, and then discarded her in favor of his work, no matter how much he claimed to truly love her. She had allowed it, and many other injustices, in the eighteen years Barty had been alive. He had seen her brought low, not by any abuse, but by simple negligence; and he had seen her feeble attempts to protect him from his father's contempt and control, and had found them pathetic. He could not think highly of her as a woman, or as a witch, or even as a mother. She was a sweet fragile thing, and now she was gone.

Yes, he felt relieved. There had always been a coldness in him, akin to the Dark Lord's own, and yet she had clung to that coldness with a weak warmth that had sometimes filled him with a weak affection in return, and that at other times had made him want to brush her aside, as his father had.

He would never have done so, while she lived. He could not deny his own ideals or his own ambitions, but he would not have cast her aside, weak though she was. He would not be his father, the soulless bastard who had broken her heart and spawned a child without one. He would not deny her his care, even if he could not offer true love or loyalty.

But now she was gone, and he was alone, cold and free, free to serve the Dark Lord without encumbrance. No more guilt or worry, pity or contempt, would he have to feel. His mother was gone, and he was a true Death Eater now, fighting a desperate war, but free to dedicate himself to the cause.

And Bellatrix… Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's pet, a dark and rabid thing who clung to him as Barty's mother had, in timid kindness, clung to him. Barty did not think Bellatrix would belong in the Dark Lord's world any more than his mother would have; a mad dog was useful in a war, but could only be a weakness when the Dark Lord's domination was complete.

No, Barty didn't think Bellatrix would last. She would be discarded or destroyed. His rage and disgust, his bitter longing to tear her pretty throat apart, could wait.

Barty was a patient man.


	52. Chapter 52

52

 _ **Marriage and Massacre: Ministry of Magic Compromised?**_

 _An Exclusive Interview with Lily Potter, Britain's Most Beautiful Bride and Tragic Victim of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Ministry of Magic_

 _by Rita Skeeter, Correspondent_

 _Lily Potter, née Evans, whose wedding shocked the country last week when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself appeared with Death Eaters, giants, Inferi, and even, according to some reports, armies of vampires and werewolves, to devastate the innocent village of Godric's Hollow and slaughter Mrs. Potter's wedding guests, most of whom were gruesomely raised to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's army, sat down with me this morning (with a pretty friend, who wished to remain anonymous, offering support) to discuss her wedding, her marriage, the massacre she miraculously survived, and (shockingly) the role the Ministry of Magic itself played in the circumstances that led to this tragedy._

 _Mrs. Potter's wedding would have been interesting enough without any tragedy. Long-time friends of Lily Evans were not surprised when James Potter proposed, but Wizarding Britain was shocked that an unknown, Muggleborn girl had snagged one of the country's most eligible pureblood bachelors. It was no doubt this unexpected match that drew He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's eye. But Mrs. Potter believes there was more to it than that. Below is my exclusive interview with the charming Mrs. Potter in its entirety:_

 _ **Rita: Thank you for joining me, Lily. Why don't we start with the lighter questions. How is married life treating you?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Oh, Rita, I wish I could say all of the light and happy things you're probably hoping for. I've been looking forward to my wedding day for almost as long as I can remember, and dreaming of how wonderful it would be, to promise myself to the man I love – and, of course, once I knew that man was James, the dreams all just became so much more perfect and real – and then to have it all ripped away… Honestly, James and I haven't even had the chance to enjoy ourselves, or to appreciate what we have. So many people we loved died…_

 _ **Rita: James's parents died, didn't they?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes, and one of his best friends, too. Not to mention so many other of our friends, and his family…_

 _ **Rita: Tragic, truly tragic. How is James coping?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I don't even know. He's been away so much…_

 _ **Rita: Away?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I… I really shouldn't say, Rita. Or maybe I should. It's just that I'm so scared, after everything that happened…_

 _ **Rita: Scared of what?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Of him. Of You-Know-Who. But James has been so brave, and I want to be brave, too. That's where James has been – trying to fight him, to find a way to end this war and protect us all._

 _ **Rita: James is fighting the Death Eaters?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Rita, I just can't say any more. I don't want to put him in danger. But yes – yes, as much as we can, we're both fighting._

 _ **Rita: And is that why He-Who-Must-Be-Named targeted you? Targeted your wedding?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _That's part of it, yes. And part of it is that I'm Muggleborn and James is pureblood. But it's more than that – it's so much more._

 _ **Rita: You mentioned before we sat down that you thought the Ministry was involved.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes, that's why I'm here. Because people have to know. I can't stand the thought of this happening to anyone else, of anyone else losing their families and their friends because of the Ministry._

 _ **Rita: How is the Ministry involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Well, I'm sure you read about Rookwood getting arrested –_

 _ **Rita: I wrote the article.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Oh, you did! Then you know who he is – who he was – that he worked for the Department of Mysteries, and that he's been spying on the Ministry for You-Know-Who. But there was more to it than that, and the Ministry's been fighting to keep that a secret._

 _ **Rita: But you found out?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes. We've been – well, like I said, we've been fighting, and we've come across information that I knew we just had to share with you, about Rookwood. You see, what the Ministry has been trying to keep hidden is that Rookwood is the one who designed the wedding rings the Ministry has been forcing people to wear._

 _ **Rita: The rings to monitor compliance with the marriage law? You're saying that magic was designed by a Death Eater?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes, on You-Know-Who's orders._

 _ **Rita: Lily, I'm shocked. Are you sure?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Completely positive. And there's more – the person in charge of the implementation of the marriage law is Rookwood's wife, Dolores Umbridge. And she's still in charge now – even after Rookwood was arrested._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _We're pretty sure she's been using Dark magic. The rings are definitely Dark. And even now that Rookwood's in prison, the Ministry has been letting Umbridge carry on the work she and Rookwood started together._

 _ **Rita: And what is that work? Why would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named be interested in weddings and romance?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _That's just it. He's not interested in romance – of course he's not, I doubt he even knows how to love. But how many people who opposed him are in prison now because they wouldn't follow the law? How many people have fled the country? But it's worse than that. He's trying to control what kind of children are born, who can have babies, who can't._

 _ **Rita: What do you mean? Is this the Dark magic you were talking about?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes. The Ministry told us the rings are supposed to encourage conception. What they didn't tell us is that the rings will prevent conception if the baby doesn't have enough magic to meet You-Know-Who's standards._

 _ **Rita: You-Know-Who is preventing pregnancies?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes! So if two people – a witch and a wizard – husband and wife – if they try to make a baby while they're wearing the rings, and there isn't as much magic as You-Know-Who thinks there should be, they won't be able to get pregnant._

 _ **Rita: But that's outrageous!**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I know! It's horrifying, and so terrifying. I couldn't believe it when I found out._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _It's disgusting._

 _ **Rita: If true, it's absolutely heinous. But can you verify this?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Anyone who's knowledgeable about spell theory can. I've seen the spell matrix myself. But Dumbledore was the one who first discovered it. He brought his concerns to the Wizengamot, but the Wizengamot voted in favor of the law anyway. We think several members might be compromised – there were votes that changed at the last minute, you know. It made us think –_

 _ **Rita: That You-Know-Who was threatening them. Or blackmailing them, perhaps?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes. But there was nothing we could do about it. The Minister refused to take Dumbledore's concerns seriously. Even now that he knows Rookwood was a Death Eater, he hasn't done anything about it. And the Aurors are still dragging people off to Azkaban for not wanting to wear these rings, people who are fighting You-Know-Who, people who have saved lives, who would still be saving lives if not for this horrific law –_

 _ **Rita: You're talking about Sirius Black.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes, among others. But Sirius is at the front of my mind, because he's James's best friend – he was James's best man – and because he saved people at our wedding, only to be arrested as soon as the Aurors arrived. There were still Inferi attacking people, still Death Eaters on the loose, but Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he just went straight for Sirius and took him to Azkaban. And there were other guests who were practically forced to marry on the spot, whether or not they loved each other, whether or not they were ready._

 _ **Rita: So you think Bartemius Crouch might be in league with the Death Eaters?**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I'm not saying that. We all know Crouch has authorized the use of the Unforgivables against Death Eaters. But he's obviously not thinking too hard about which laws are more important, is he? Between saving people from Death Eaters, Inferi, and giants, and arresting people for not wanting to agree to forced marriages, he's keener on forcing people to get married than on protecting people. And the whole Auror Department's been ordered to do the same, I think._

 _ **Rita: It seems almost unbelievable that this could have happened without corruption high up in the Ministry.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _It does. The fact that the Ministry would do this to us – to all of us, even to those of us who actually are in love – is just hideous. James and I love each other, and we want to spend the rest of our lives together, but if the Ministry hadn't pushed us into rushing things, our family and friends might still be alive. And there are so many people who aren't happy – people who've gone to the Ministry begging to be allowed not to marry – but Umbridge made sure there wasn't even an appeal process. We all understand that having children is important, but how many people could have found true love if they'd just been allowed to wait a few years?_

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _And it isn't just that. Not being in love is bad enough, but with the lottery, the "Random Spousal Assignment" or whatever Umbridge is calling it, there are people together who absolutely hate each other, and they're still being forced to do things that no one should ever be forced to do. It's evil._

 _ **Lily:**_ _It's – oh, I don't even know if you'll be allowed to print this, Rita, but it's rape._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _A friend of ours was in the marriage office last week – getting her forced marriage – and she told us there was a woman there sobbing, just begging to be let out of her marriage –_

 _ **Lily:**_ _But the Ministry doesn't care._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _Umbridge doesn't care. Honestly, from what we've heard, she likes it. She's just as sadistic as the Death Eaters. She wants to see people in pain._

 _ **Lily:**_ _And the Ministry hired her!_

 _ **Rita: Just like they hired Rookwood.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Yes! How are we supposed to trust them when they have people like Rookwood and Umbridge working for them? And Lucius Malfoy, who was arrested a few months ago, was a huge donor to the Ministry, he had all kinds of influence –_

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _And what about Barty Crouch's son? There were rumors that he was a Death Eater, but now he's just disappeared._

 _ **Rita: Rumors that Barty Crouch's son was a Death Eater?**_

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _Yes, didn't you hear? His father yanked him out of Hogwarts and no one's seen him since. But it's hard not to wonder if that's why he's been so keen on the marriage law…_

 _ **Lily:**_ _And why he's prioritizing that over protecting people from Death Eaters. They could be using his son against him._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _Or he could be Imperiused. If he's got a Death Eater living in his home, he's definitely not safe._

 _ **Rita: But why wasn't his son taken to Azkaban? Or given a trial in front of the Wizengamot? That practically reeks of corruption.**_

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _It's definitely a double standard. Crouch gets to break the law, but the rest of us have to worry about being shipped to Azkaban just for wanting to choose who we're with, or when to have babies._

 _ **Rita: Or whether babies without a certain amount of magic can even be born. Honestly, ladies, of everything you've told me, I find that by far the most disturbing. That the Ministry will actively harm unborn children – and all because the baby might have a great-aunt or a distant cousin who doesn't have as much magical blood as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants!**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I'm so glad you understand, Rita. And I'm sure you understand why I couldn't keep this a secret._

 _ **Rita: I do, Lily, I assure you. Thank you so much for confiding in me – and in our readers. I'm sure they won't take this sitting down.**_

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _But what can they do?_

 _ **Lily:**_ _Petition the Wizengamot! Refuse to get married! Can you imagine what would happen if we all took off our rings at once? The Aurors couldn't possibly arrest us all. They'd have to arrest half the country._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _Which would defeat the whole purpose of the marriage law – or at least the purpose they claim they had. But how locking people up or driving people to flee the country is supposed to increase our population, I really don't understand._

 _ **Lily:**_ _No, it's all a trick. A trap, even, to make sure Muggleborn and half-blood children can't be conceived anymore._

 _ **Lily's Pretty Friend:**_ _Do you think we could really get everyone to take off their rings?_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I think we should try. What do you think, Rita?_

 _ **Rita: I think our readers will be very interested in the idea. I know I am – my husband's not exactly what I'd hoped for. (Laughs.) Sorry, darling.**_

 _ **Lily:**_ _I know you're not the only one, Rita. Hopefully we can get this law overturned for you and for everyone else._

 _ **Rita: I hope so, too!**_

* * *

"Nice work, you two," Moody growled, tossing the morning's paper on the table in the Potters' sitting room. Lily Potter's interview with Rita Skeeter had been issued before the news of Crouch's wife's death – and Crouch's subsequent suspension from duty – had reached the _Daily Prophet._ The _Evening Prophet_ hadn't been released yet, but Moody had the feeling that the escape of Crouch's son, whose Death Eater loyalties had only that morning been revealed to the Wizarding public, would be so damning that everything Lily and the Peverell girl had said would be accepted as truth without question.

It was a relief to have this one small victory, after the hell they'd all been through.

It was a smaller group than usual that had gathered at the Potters' that evening: the Horcrux Hunters, as Moody had privately dubbed them. The rest of the Order would be arriving in short order, but Dumbledore had wanted the most important updates first.

"The ring and the locket have both been destroyed," Prince told them.

Moody studied the man without making any attempt to hide it. The resemblance to Snape had been striking from the start, but between the little tidbits Dobby had dropped in the past few days, and the way James Potter was currently staring at his so-called cousin, Moody was fairly certain this Prince was none other than Severus Snape, plus twenty years or so.

Impossible, in theory. Time was a closed loop, or so the Unspeakables said. But Moody had done enough checking to be sure that neither Severus Prince, nor the Peverells, nor Hermione Granger existed, legally, in his time.

Very curious. Very interesting. And seeing Snape all grown up was fascinating in its own right. The dark, angsty teenager had become a powerful, confident man, if a somewhat less cautious one than Moody might have expected. But there was a weariness in this older Snape that Moody had rarely seen before in anyone. He wondered how badly wrong the war must have gone in the future for these four to jump back two decades to try to fix it.

Dumbledore, he noted, was similarly studying Prince-Snape. Moody and the old wizard hadn't much discussed the possible origins of these new additions to the Order, but Dumbledore, of course, must have come to the same conclusions he had, even without Dobby's undercover intelligence to guide him. It was, after all, once of the more probable theories, once you removed the little issue of unspeakably mysterious time-traveling rules. And the travelers hadn't exactly been subtle. No Polyjuice, no Glamor Charms, and only the flimsiest of cover stories. They evidently weren't too concerned about smashing through the barriers of time.

And the universe hadn't imploded so far, so maybe all the panicked restrictions the Unspeakables were always carrying on about were really just a load of rubbish.

"So that just leaves the cup, right?" Lily asked. Judging from her distinct lack of interest in her possible future son, Moody had the feeling James hadn't shared his suspicions with his wife. Between that and the solid three feet of distance between them on the sofa, Moody was guessing marriage wasn't treating the Potters too well.

"I have confirmed that the cup of Hufflepuff is not in Gringotts," Dumbledore said. "The information Mr. Peverell and Miss Granger has provided suggests that Voldemort intended to entrust his Horcrux to the vault of some of his wealthiest Death Eaters – the Lestranges – but as the Lestranges are currently fugitives, it seems likely this option is now closed to him. Though the goblins do not restrict vault access to suspected or convicted criminals, sneaking a Horcrux into Gringotts at this juncture would almost certainly draw attention, something Voldemort will likely wish to avoid."

"So Gringotts is out," James said.

"Probably," his probable future son replied. "Which means he probably still has it, and is probably trying to find a new hiding place."

"Or he's already hidden it," Moody pointed out.

"It's possible," Harry acknowledged. "But he'll still be regrouping after Godric's Hollow, and between hiding the locket and freeing Barty Crouch, Jr., he's had a busy week."

"It is possible recent events will spur the Dark Lord to greater haste where his final Horcrux is concerned," Prince said.

"His final Horcrux _now,_ " Ginny Peverell said. "He's planning to make one more, and recent events might spur him to greater haste where _that_ is concerned."

"I think we have to assume, from this point forward, that most of the information we had is… outdated," Harry said.

Moody resisted the urge to snort.

"We don't know where he's going to hide the cup, we don't know when he'll make his sixth Horcrux, and we don't know what he's going to do next," Harry continued, counting off on his fingers.

"I think we have a fair idea of what he'll do next," Moody growled. "After freeing Crouch, Jr., his next stop's probably Azkaban."

"Yet that would take time to arrange," Prince replied. "The Dementors will side with him in time, but he will have to persuade them."

"How?" Moody asked, eyeing Prince carefully. He remembered well what the man had said the day they'd met, about once being a spy in Voldemort's circle. Wasn't hard to deduce that Snape – the Snape of Prince's timeline – had joined up with the Death Eaters before backing out. Moody might have distrusted him for it, if he hadn't seen the Snape of _this_ timeline teetering on that edge, far from absolute commitment to Voldemort's cause. It was obvious that, no matter which timeline they were talking about, Snape's choice had rested on a knife edge. One word, one touch, one smile, one seemingly insignificant act of cruelty or of kindness could have pushed him in either direction. The Snape who had become this Prince had been pushed in one direction – the Snape Moody had reluctantly allowed to be arrested, another.

Moody would have given a lot to know what had pushed each young man to their respective sides of that knife edge, and even more to know what had pushed Prince back.

Prince was carefully considering Moody's question about the Dementors. Finally he said, "I am not certain. I believe he will offer gifts –"

"Gifts?" James asked. "What kind of gift would you give a Dementor?"

Both Snapes turned to stare at James like he was an idiot. Moody could hardly blame them.

"Souls," Prince said slowly, as if he were speaking to a five-year-old.

"How –" Lily whispered, before gasping, her jaw dropping open in horror. "You don't mean he'll give them people?"

"He will," Prince said. "Dementors are governed by one hunger and one alone. No other incentive will move them."

Lily and James both stared at him in horror. The others were grim, but clearly not surprised; neither, of course, was Moody. He'd been working with Dementors his whole career. He knew what motivated them. The Ministry had managed to press them into service by exploiting their weakness to certain types of magic, and by offering them some small satisfaction for their hunger. But there was nothing the Dementors desired more than to devour the entire world, or at least all humans in it.

Of course Voldemort wouldn't let them feast on _all_ his future subjects, but he would certainly feed them better than the Ministry did.

But first he'd have to prove it. A soul here, a soul there, wooing them slowly, convincing them that he would keep his promises, that he would not confine them the way the Ministry had.

It would take time. But they had no way of knowing when his efforts had begun.

"He could've already started to win them over," he pointed out.

Prince considered that, but it was Snape who said, "At the very latest, he probably started planning it when Malfoy was arrested. Malfoy is too useful to leave languishing in Azkaban, even if he was foolish enough to allow himself to be captured. Aside from being a limitless source of funds for the cause, he had ties all over the magical world, not to mention an impressive degree of magical talent."

"And You-Know-Who did trust him with the diary," Ginny said.

"And that was, what, three months ago that he was arrested? Four? Think that'd be enough time to win the Dementors over?" James asked.

"Yes," Prince said.

"Yes," Dumbledore echoed, "I think we must assume that Lord Voldemort has already begun forming an alliance with the Dementors. It may be a matter of months until he attempts to break his Death Eaters out of Azkaban, but it also may be only a matter of days."

"The Aurors set up a patrol around Azkaban, didn't they?" Hermione Granger asked. "Have there been any Death Eater sightings?"

"None that we've heard of, but –"

A sudden knock on the door brought him up short. Before any of them could respond, Frank and Alice Longbottom had burst into the sitting room.

"Lily, have you –" Alice began, only to break off as she saw the assembled group.

"Meeting early?" she asked, eyebrows arched.

"Usually after knocking you _wait,_ " James said.

" _We_ don't," Alice said, glancing at Lily. "You married my best friend, Potter. That means you get me, too."

"You have news?" Dumbledore queried, his gaze fixed not on Alice but on Frank, who was tense and as close to impatient as Moody had ever seen him.

"Yes," Frank said. "Bellatrix Lestrange was sighted about half a mile from Azkaban."

A hush fell over the group. "Speak of the devil," Moody muttered.

"You think it's tonight?" James asked, sounding more eager than afraid.

"Might be," Moody said. "Or they might be patrolling, same as us."

"We'll be there tonight," Alice said. "For our initiation. We'll send word immediately if they show up." She glanced at Granger. "Do you have the coins?"

"Yes," Granger said, withdrawing a bag full of clanking gold from her robes. "Here, let me get you added to the contract…"

As Granger and the Longbottoms gathered around the kitchen table to get themselves assigned to a couple of Granger's coins, Moody made his lurching way over to Dumbledore.

"We need a plan," he growled. "If the Death Eaters attack Azkaban, the Aurors won't be enough… but we can't send these kids," he jerked his head at the room in general, but he meant the Potters, "in without some kind of preparation."

Before Dumbledore could answer, Peverell was at his side, closely followed by the rest of his merry band of time-travelers. "We were thinking teams of two," he said. "One to cast the Patronus, one to fight."

"Might work," Moody said.

"It is not ideal," Prince stated bluntly. "Peverell has both the strongest Patronus and some of the strongest dueling skills. Miss Granger, on the other hand, can barely cast a Patronus, and her dueling skills are atrocious."

Snape grimaced, looking like he wanted to defend Miss Granger, but obviously his experience confirmed whatever his so-called uncle had seen.

"She could cast wards," Peverell suggested uncertainly.

"Azkaban is already heavily warded," Prince said.

"We could do a team of three," Ginny said. "One to cast the Patronus, one to duel, and then Hermione to get people out."

"People?" Prince asked.

"People who've been arrested for refusing to comply with the law," Ginny replied. "Rita gave us a list – apparently the _Prophet_ keeps track, you know, for the potential scandals – if we could find out where they're being held, we could break them out."

"So you're saying we should use Voldemort's jail break as an opportunity for one of our own, is that it?" Moody asked, eyeing her curiously.

"Why not? They don't deserve to be there, and if the Dementors join You-Know-Who, there's no telling what they might do to the prisoners You-Know-Who _doesn't_ want."

"You think they'll go after the other prisoners?" James asked, approaching their corner. "Then we have to get Sirius –"

"We have to get _all_ of them," Ginny said, giving Potter a hard look.

"Right," he said, "of course."

"Problem with this plan is you don't have a key," Moody said. "I do, but I can't exactly go releasing prisoners –"

"I have a key," Prince said.

"Like Granger's?" Moody asked, remembering the chaos that had occurred at the Ministry when she had used her key. No doubt, he realized now, because it was a key from the future.

He wondered how she had gotten one. She sure as hell wasn't an Auror. Researcher, maybe? He didn't think she was an Unspeakable, she was too grounded in hard facts.

"Yes," Prince said. "I believe it will work."

"It'll mess up the records at the Ministry," Moody said, "but yeah, it'll work. All right, so you want to send Granger in with that key?"

"If we can get a map of those cells," Ginny said. "She can't just wander around aimlessly asking people's names."

"I can get her a map," Moody said.

"Then we just need to set up teams," Harry said.

"I'll stay with Hermione," Snape said immediately.

Moody didn't miss the knowing looks the Peverells exchanged, or the slight amusement in Prince's eyes. Snape must have noticed, as well, because he blushed and glowered at them all.

"I think," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "we will wait for the full Order to arrive before assigning teams. If our object is both to prevent Death Eaters from escaping and to protect innocent prisoners from the Dementors, then we shall need as many recruits as we can possibly get."


	53. Chapter 53

53

James studied Lily's sleeping face, the candlelight sparking dazzlingly in her hair, her cheeks a little pinker than usual. The bed was warm – almost _too_ warm, after their, er, marital duties – and though they had both fallen asleep in the immediate aftermath of saving all those poor sods who hadn't married someone they were willing to sleep with, James had woken up again only twenty minutes later, seized by a powerful urge to _do_ something.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to tell Lily. He _had_ to tell Lily. She'd go mental if he kept something like this from her.

But she'd also try to stop him from using what he'd found out.

Admittedly, he didn't yet know _how_ to use what he'd discovered. Just figuring out that Harry was his son (his son!) and that Snape had grown up to be… slightly intimidating… wasn't really useful, all things considered. He needed Padfoot here to bounce the ideas off of, Padfoot, who would be more than willing to take this secret and implement it to its fullest potential.

Once upon a time, that potential would have been limitless pranks. How many times had they lamented their inability to travel through time? And then there had been that one year when they had stolen some naïve little Ravenclaw's Time-Turner and –

But that was beside the point. He had more important things to consider now than the mischief he had made as a kid. He was an adult, and an orphan, and half the people he loved were now dead.

He could change it.

He knew he could. After all, hadn't _they?_ Granger and Snape and James's own son? They'd come back in time, and they'd changed things. James knew they couldn't have used a Time-Turner. There would have been no point in coming back all those years if they had. No, they had figured something else out, something that had allowed them to jump backward through time with impunity.

He wanted it.

He wouldn't even use it to prank anybody. He wouldn't use it for fun. He would just go back to his wedding day and _stop_ it, stop everything.

What had happened that day was not an unchangeable event. It was not permanent. He had the evidence in front of him, clear as day, that he could go back and fix it.

No dead parents. No dead Remus. No dead friends, teachers, family. Everyone would be okay, except the Death Eaters. And Voldemort. James would find a way to kill Voldemort.

But if he told Lily…

He knew she was in mourning after the wedding. They had barely spoken to each other in the past week because of it. She was in a numb, grieving haze, and he…

He really just hadn't accepted it yet.

And if he figured out what his son had done, he wouldn't _have_ to accept it, ever.

But he didn't think Lily would agree.

Oh, she would want to. She would talk about how much she loved them, and he knew it was true. But Lily had always liked to play by the rules, and she had always taken things like this seriously. The great big rules that supposedly hung over all their heads, the constant terrifying specter of _getting in trouble._ James and Sirius had always reveled in that feeling, but Lily was a little more… well, uptight.

Beautiful, charming, adorable, and clever… but uptight.

He could well imagine her absolute horror at the thought that he might go back in time. Her horror at the knowledge that their _son_ had gone back in time. She would be afraid he would make himself cease existing, and all kinds of things like that. James had a more laid-back attitude about the mysteries of the universe, and he was relieved that his son, who in almost every other way was totally perplexing and strange, had at least inherited his absolute disregard for rules.

But that was why he wanted to talk to Lily in the first place. How had this weird, serious, non-Quidditch playing boy come from _them?_ How had his son become friends with _Snape?_ An older, greasier Snape, even? How could his son not laugh at pranks?

He'd at least done all right in the romance department, but still… what the hell?

He fidgeted, and Lily's eyes popped open, their green glinting warmly in the candlelight, like leaves on a summer afternoon. He smiled at her, but her brow creased.

"Why are you awake?" she asked, yawning.

James shrugged, as much as he was able to shrug while lying on his side.

"You looked upset," she said.

Damn. "Just thinking about things."

Her face creased in pity, which would have annoyed him if she hadn't also leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth.

He wondered how much the two dozen or so couples linked to their rings would judge them if the rings glowed twice in one night.

Lily, though, leaned back, still looking sleepy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Merlin, did he, but he shook his head. She frowned again, looking unconvinced.

For several minutes they didn't say anything, and Lily started drifting back into sleep. James fidgeted, then rolled over, then rolled over again, onto his back, staring at the ceiling as one of the candles sputtered and died.

He sighed.

"What is it?" Lily asked, apparently not as asleep as she'd seemed – or else annoyed that he had woken her up again.

"Nothing," he said, then abruptly changed his mind. "Peverell."

"Harry?" she asked, sounding more awake and curious now.

"Yeah," James said, but offered nothing more.

"What about him?" Lily asked, sounding half-amused and half-impatient that she was having to drag it out of him.

"Just… does he, er, seem familiar to you?"

She blinked. "Aside from looking like you, you mean?"

"Well… yeah, aside from that, I guess."

She considered that. "Sometimes he reminds me of Petunia."

"Of Petunia?" James asked, appalled. "Your sister?"

"Just his expressions, sometimes," she said. "But it's not like that means anything."

James was silent.

Lily was silent.

Another of the candles started to flicker dramatically. Slowly, Lily said, "… does it?"

"Er," James said. "I'm not sure." Though, really, he was pretty damn sure.

Lily gazed at him for long moments, her brow creased. "But… no," she said, shaking her head. "It couldn't…" She trailed off.

"Couldn't it?" James risked.

" _James,_ " Lily said. "It isn't even possible!"

"Maybe it is."

"James!" She sat up, staring down at him with her pretty hair falling all around her. "You can't be serious!"

"I mean… think about it," James said, sitting up, too.

"I am. It's insane!"

"Is it?" He hesitated, then ventured, "What about that Prince bloke?"

"He's just…" Lily stared at him. "You _can't_ be serious. You think _he's_ Snape!"

"He's just as greasy," James said, unable to help himself.

Lily picked up her pillow and hit him with it. "James!"

"Don't they seem similar to you?"

"They're _relatives,_ James."

"They look even more alike than me and Harry!"

"He's his uncle, James! His mother's…" Lily blinked suddenly, startled.

"His mother's what?"

"He… But that can't be right," she muttered, frowning.

" _What?_ " James asked.

"No," Lily said, shaking her head. "I'm sure it's nothing."

" _Lily,_ " James demanded.

"It's just…" She twisted a finger in her hair, an anxious habit he adored. "Severus, er, looks like his dad."

"And?"

"And," Lily took a deep breath, "Prince is supposed to be his _mother's_ brother."

James absorbed that for a moment, then broke into a grin. "Ha! So you admit –"

"I'm not admitting anything!"

"But the evidence –"

"It could just be coincidence!"

"Coincidence that Snape's mum married her brother's lookalike? C'mon, Lily, I know Snape is messed up, but surely you don't think his family was _that_ disturbing."

Lily opened her mouth to object, then shut it, frowning. "His mother _was_ weird," she said defensively.

"I dunno," James said. "Between secret incestuous desires for that ugly bastard and time-travel, I think time-travel is more likely."

Lily looked like she would rather not contemplate either possibility.

"Especially," James pressed, "when you consider how much Harry looks like – like us," he faltered at the end, struck anew by how strange and wonderful it was that he and Lily were going to have a baby.

Lily looked a little startled, too. "I – well," she conceded, "I know he does, but James –"

"Lily, it explains everything. How they know all the things they do, about the Horcruxes and everything. How Granger knew all about the Death Eaters, even Barty Crouch. _None_ of us knew about that one."

"But James, it just isn't _possible._ I've read the books –"

"The books could be wrong –"

"But James, the _implications!_ They could be destroying everything! They could be destroying themselves!"

"Maybe they thought it was worth it," James said grimly.

Lily's gaze sharpened. "James Potter, don't you _dare_ think about trying something like that!"

"Lily –"

"We have no idea what they might have done – _if_ they even did anything, which I still seriously doubt – and we don't know what their circumstances were! But really, unless it was the end of the world, there's nothing that could justify coming back like this!"

"Well, maybe it was," James said. "Maybe Voldemort won."

"Maybe," Lily said. "But he hasn't won now, James, so you can't –" Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I know how much you want to change it, but you _can't_ , James, you have no idea what could happen! You might die! Or – or _he_ might die, our baby!"

It was a low blow, and it was horribly effective. "But," James objected, floundering, "he hasn't even been conceived yet!"

"But what if he _never is?_ " Lily said. "What if you go back and Harry just pops out of existence?"

James had one horrible selfish moment of thinking that at least then whatever kid he had might be able to play Quidditch properly, before he shoved the thought aside and remembered the brave, panicked boy in the cave, sobbing and calling him "Dad."

Of course James couldn't do anything to compromise the kid.

"Maybe there's a way," James said. "I mean, maybe they figured out how to make sure they didn't mess anything up – maybe that's why they were willing to come here!"

"James, you still don't even know if they _did_ come here from the future."

"Lily, they _did_ , I know it! And – and they told me you and I are going to die!"

Lily went rigid, staring at him in pale shock.

"They told you? They admitted –"

"No, they were just talking about Harry, about how his parents died, how his godfather was in Azkaban –"

Lily gasped.

"But I could tell just from the way they said it that they meant _us,_ Lily! _We_ die. Or at least we would have, in their timeline. I don't know if it would have happened at the wedding or when, but we were going to die and we _have_ to stop it! I won't let anything happen to you."

Lily had a strange, faraway look on her face. "He protected me," she murmured.

"Who?"

"Harry… after the wedding, when we were hiding… He wouldn't leave me, not even to go with Ginny. And I could tell… I mean, it was obvious from the way they were looking at each other that there was some _reason_ for it. What if…?"

"What if they knew you were going to die?" James asked, both grim and triumphant that she was finally starting to agree with him.

"What are we going to _do?_ " Lily whispered. "What are _they_ going to do? There must be so much they're not telling us!"

"We've got to find out," James said decisively.

Lily looked unsure. "Should we ask?"

"Ask _them?_ 'Course not, they'd never tell us."

"But then how are we going to find out? Dumbledore –"

"I bet Dumbledore already suspects," James said. "No, we'll have to figure something else out. Some way of spying on them…" He was already enthusiastically imagining the possibilities.

"James," Lily said, a little suppressively. "I'm sure there are better ways –"

"Of finding out what our time-traveling son is up to?"

Lily didn't seem able to contain a small smile at that. "But why on earth does he make the same faces as _Petunia?_ Surely I wouldn't have let him spend that much time with her…"

"I dunno… He must have stayed with someone, though, right? If Sirius was in Azkaban…"

"But not with _Petunia,_ " Lily said, evidently disturbed. "She'd be horrible with him! She hates magic!"

"Plus she's dating that Dursley oaf."

Lily made a face.

"We'll just have to stick close to them," James said. "Every chance we get…"

Lily looked like she wasn't sure that was going to work, but James insisted, "It's the best chance we've got, at least until we can figure out a way to spy on them."

* * *

Hermione's tent was crowded these days. Harry and Ginny had taken the bottom bunk, and at the Snapes' insistence Hermione had stayed in the top bunk. Dobby had made himself a little nest in the corner (it looked like nothing so much as a dog bed), and the Snapes were taking turns sleeping on the couch and the floor.

After the Order meeting and the endless back and forth about teams and Patronuses and who was better at dueling, they were all exhausted, annoyed, and anxious, and they had collectively decided to try to get some sleep in case tonight was the night the Death Eaters stormed Azkaban.

Hermione didn't think any of them had actually fallen asleep, though. She knew Harry and Ginny hadn't; every once in a while the bunk bed would jolt sharply, and Hermione was almost completely certain Ginny was snuggling Harry a little more closely than Harry was comfortable with in a tent full of people, and that he was jerking with surprise every time she… did whatever she was doing.

Whispering Parseltongue in his ear, probably.

 _Hopefully._

Hermione knew Dobby was awake because he snored when he wasn't, and the tent was, at present, blissfully quiet, although she supposed it was possible one of the Snapes had cast a Silencing Charm around the elf's bed. Neither of the Snapes snored, but she could tell the older Snape was awake because he kept making small, snort-like noises, either of amusement or disgust, whenever the bunk bed would suddenly shift and squeak.

And Severus… Hermione could see him lying against the far wall, gazing up at the faintly moonlit canopy of the tent, his black eyes glittering in his shadowed face.

She had no idea why the sight made her blush, but it did.

It wasn't the first time she had slept in a tent with a boy she liked. There had been that year with Ron, when they were on the run. But nothing about that had been romantic. In the first months, Ron had been ill-tempered, unhelpful, demanding, and, no matter what he said to the contrary, sexist when it came to expecting her to cook and clean for them all. And he _had_ snored, sounding a lot like an unhappy Grawp. At first it had been amusing, and Hermione and Harry had exchanged many laughing glances about it. But it had gotten very annoying after a while, and it had certainly never been attractive.

And then he had abandoned them, and she had been too furious upon his return to really credit any of the nicer things he'd done for her. She'd kissed him during the battle, yes, but by then the inclination she'd felt toward him was already mostly gone.

Never had she lain awake, head tilted at just the right angle to watch him out of the corner of her eye. Never had she observed the pale drifting moonlight settling over his face, or sparking in his eyes. Never had she wondered what he was thinking about (she had usually assumed it was something boring), or what he would think if he caught her watching him like this.

Hermione prided herself on her general lack of romantic sensibilities. Aside from the brief, embarrassing crush on Lockhart, she had never fixated on anyone, and she had certainly never swooned or sighed or done any of those stupid things girls were supposed to do according to the romance novels Lavender had read by the dozen.

She didn't feel like she was fixated on Severus now. A thousand other thoughts were racing through her head, questions about the war and time-travel and the nature of reality and Hufflepuff's cup and Azkaban and the marriage law and countless other things. And yet, undeniably, one of the thoughts that kept coming back to her, that was always there, no matter how worried or anxious or determined she felt, was this… awareness.

Of him.

She had always been aware of Snape, of course. Snape had the talent of commanding all attention whenever he entered a room. He was a powerful, clever, dramatic wizard, and his short temper and occasional pettiness did nothing to lessen the impact he had on anyone who laid eyes on him. Hermione had never been one of those who dismissed him as ugly, or who was repulsed or discomfited by his appearance. He was an intense, strange, striking man, and the fact that he was not as pretty as Lockhart, or as cute as Ron, meant next to nothing to her.

Yet seeing his younger self had opened up her eyes to him in ways she had never expected – had opened up her eyes to both of them. Watching them together, comparing them, their voices, their mannerisms, their expressions, their features, had given her a vision of Severus Snape, neither young nor old, neither one nor the other, but simply himself, in his truest form, and she was fascinated.

It was only natural, if embarrassing, to wonder if that fascination were romantic. And it was impossible, having wondered that, not to ask herself whether she felt that way about _both_ of them, or only _one._ Though they were different, each with his individual histories, horrors, and hopes, they were also, in essence, the same.

If she liked the younger Severus, did that not mean she also liked the older? Were they not just manifestations of the same whole – the same _soul?_

Bizarre and bewildering possibilities played themselves out in her mind, questions she had never thought to ask before. If she had met Snape, not as a child, but as a grown woman, would there have been something between them? Or if they had traveled not to the past of another world, but to its future, would he have met her older self and felt something for her? Would her older self have felt something for him? The thought filled her with an alarming ache of longing, a wistfulness that left her doubting her usually logical self.

That there could be something between her and Snape, the Snape of her world, now, was impossible. He had taught her since she was eleven; she had looked up to him as a sometimes trusted, sometimes distrusted figure of authority, and she still did (although his trustworthiness was no longer in doubt, of course). She didn't think she could ever look at him as anything _but_ an authority figure, though she of course saw more humanity in him now than she ever had before. But she would never _not_ look up to him. She would never _not_ see him as a teacher.

And though she would absolutely want to be with someone who could teach her, the history of school lessons between them, of lectures and homework and marks and exams, was a wall that she didn't think she could ever surmount, and she didn't think he could, either.

And yet, she _did_ feel something for him, for Severus Snape, young and old. There was a possibility there, a sense of potential, that she hadn't recognized until she came here and met his younger, more open, less fractured self. She felt the potential with _both_ of them now, and had the inexplicable sense that any version of her, past or future, might feel the same. If an eleven-year-old Hermione had met an eleven-year-old Severus, she didn't doubt that she would have been drawn to him, and felt (perhaps a little jealously) that she would have been a better friend to him than Lily had been. And if a fifty-year-old Hermione had met a fifty-year-old Severus…

She could see it all, endless possibilities, endless Hermione Grangers and Severus Snapes, this same potential awakening between them.

She had never really given much credence to the idea of soulmates before, and she still didn't, but she also couldn't deny that her perception of this man had shifted, and that she could imagine that shift stretching forward and backward in time, in any reality.

It was unnerving.

She still wasn't sure that what she felt _was_ romantic. She didn't know herself well enough in that regard to really _know._ Her brief relationship with Viktor had been intriguing and illuminating, but she hadn't been swept away by him. Her feelings for Ron had been deeper and more painful, but in the end kissing him hadn't awoken her in any way. Would it be like that with Snape – with Severus – too? Was she too trapped in her thoughts to just _feel_ this, like she was supposed to? Or was she just misinterpreting their closeness, so intensified by war and circumstance, as a romantic bond, when in fact it was only a profound and sudden friendship?

She knew that what she felt for Severus – the younger Severus – was more vulnerable, more unexpected, more unfamiliar. Though it surprised her that she could consider the older Snape that way, she had known him for almost half her life, the more important half, and she felt safer with him, less jolted by the newness and strangeness of her thoughts.

But it was Severus she was watching across the tent, Severus of whom she was constantly, curiously aware.

Because he was younger? Because he was a stranger? Because he hadn't taught her or made fun of her teeth? Or because he was so much more open, so much more willing to reach out, so much more willing to be reached out to in return?

She couldn't imagine bringing Snape home to her mother and telling her they were married. The resultant image was horrifying, hilarious, and awkward, too absurd to consider. But Severus?

Her mother would _love_ Severus.

Not that she wouldn't love Snape – but as a friend, indeed, maybe someday as a better friend to her than he was to her daughter. They were closer in age, and though both of Hermione's parents were intelligent, Hermione had always felt that her enthusiasm for learning had come more from her mother than from her father.

Imagining her mother becoming friends with Snape made her smile. A week ago it would have been inconceivable, but she'd seen him with Mrs. Evans – she knew he wasn't really as biased against Muggles as he pretended. Or maybe he just had a soft spot for mothers.

And it would be good for him, she decided. Good for both of them, probably, to have a friend in the other world, only a few years apart in age, who could deepen their understanding of each other's cultures.

She would have to arrange it, if and when they got back to their own reality. A family dinner, maybe. If the Longbottoms could talk him into it, she was certain that _she_ could.

And speaking of the Longbottoms…

Hermione's ring had begun to glow.

She tried to stifle her reaction, but the fierce blush that burned her cheeks in the dark was irrepressible. Across the tent, she saw the brief flash of Severus's glowing ring before it was shoved somewhere out of sight.

She had known this was coming. Frank and Alice had been linked to a handful of new couples that morning, and Alice had made a point of informing them all that they would have to _copulate_ before their initiations. Hermione had the feeling she was trying to get a rise out of Severus, who had, predictably and miserably, blushed.

She suspected he was blushing now, too. It was really impossible not to. She knew there was nothing in the spells binding the rings that could cause her to actually _feel_ what the Longbottoms were feeling, but her brain almost compulsively seized on the idea of it, and she shut her eyes, burying her face in her pillow with an embarrassed huff of air.

Never in her life had she been so keenly aware of the fact that she was a virgin as she had become in the past few days, when every glow of her ring made her feel like her insides were twisting inside out.

It was absurd, she knew. She'd been friends with Ginny for years, and Ginny, though also a virgin, was so brazenly open about her sexual experiences and desires that nothing, at this point, should have been able to disconcert Hermione. Indeed, Ginny's comments on the subject usually intrigued and amused Hermione in equal parts, and she had never once felt discomfited by them.

But this… this was more uncomfortable than she could ever have anticipated. Knowing that somewhere, at this very moment, the Longbottoms were doing what she and Severus were legally supposed to be doing… It was embarrassing and overwhelming and mortifyingly intriguing.

Though Hermione was infinitely grateful that she and the Snapes had found a way to circumvent the ring's requirements, and though she was painfully conscious of how horrific the law was, there was undeniably some small, perverse part of her mind that couldn't help wondering what would have happened if she and Severus _had_ been forced to consummate the marriage.

It would have been horrific, of course. The reality of it would have been traumatizing, repulsive, and unbearable.

But in the safety of her far-too-curious brain, the scenario was significantly less disturbing, and significantly more…

What?

Her face burned as she pressed it into the pillow, grateful beyond belief that neither of the Snapes was making eye contact with her right now. They probably wouldn't even need Legilimency to guess what she was thinking. It must have been radiating from her in waves.

It was so embarrassing.

And so… enticing.

She knew the reality would have been so much more awkward and humiliating and dreadful than she was imagining it, but thinking about his dark eyes and his elegant hands and that damned _eyebrow –_

She had to bite down on the pillow to stop from giggling, so on edge from her embarrassment that she couldn't think straight.

This was ridiculous. She had _not_ done this with Ron. She had imagined kissing him, but it hadn't filled her with this restless, eager energy, and it definitely hadn't made her want to _giggle._ Usually she only giggled when she was extremely angry, and making a conscious effort to be as nasty as she possibly could. She'd actually seen Harry flinch during her giggles before.

But this was something else. A bubbling weirdness that wouldn't leave her. She wanted to clearly define it to herself, to decide once and for all whether she liked him _that_ way or whether she was just struck by the idea of it because of the law, and the strangeness of having a Severus Snape who was so open to her.

But she _could_ imagine kissing him. She could imagine a lot more than that, if she let herself give in to the guilty, curious question of what they might have done if they'd been forced to comply with the law. Ginny had wondered at great length what Harry would _be like,_ if he would be bold or shy or awkward or brilliant or just _bad._ Hermione had always found these musings hilarious and disturbing in turn, but now she felt like she understood a little what Ginny had been trying to say, and why she had spent so much time pondering it.

Hermione should have been pondering the problem of the Death Eaters, and the responsibility she had been given to free marriage law convicts, and the war, and the Horcruxes, and the risk of death for herself and her friends, but it was an enormous relief, for these few (well, more than a few) minutes while her ring was glowing, to let herself get carried away by the confusion and curiosity that had been chasing each other around the edges of her consciousness for days.

She was not remotely ready to even consider _acting_ on her curiosity, but the possibility was an alluring glimmer in every corner of her mind.

* * *

Severus tried to ignore the phantom warmth of his ring. He knew it wasn't _actually_ warm, but he felt like it was burning on his finger, even now when it was out of sight under his blanket. Perhaps if he had been alone, he could have imagined that the ring had stopped glowing by now, but he could see the unpleasant haze of light around Hermione's ring flickering across the tent canopy above the top bunk.

She was awake, too: the light kept jerking and twitching, as if she were fidgeting. A few moments ago he had heard some kind of shivering stifled sound come from her bunk, as if she were suppressing laughter or perhaps a hysterical wail. He couldn't blame her. The awkwardness of their present circumstances was enough to make his face flush with mortification. The fact that they weren't alone, and that everyone else in the tent was still awake, only made it worse.

Or maybe it _wasn't_ worse. Maybe it was a relief. What if he and Hermione had been alone when the rings started glowing? Wouldn't that have been even more embarrassing?

It had been morning the last time it had happened, and he and Hermione had immediately met each other's gazes before looking hastily away. He had shoved his ring out of sight immediately, but Hermione hadn't seemed sure what to do with hers, and even Severus's older self had been disconcerted. Severus was just glad Ginny hadn't been there; after the kinds of things she'd said about her boyfriend, he thought her commentary on the rings would probably be even worse than Alice Longbottom's.

Of course, Ginny and Harry must both be awake now, fully aware of the glowing rings. Severus took a moment to appreciate the full unbelievable horror of lying in the dark in a tent with Lily's son by Potter as they all struggled not to contemplate what the Longbottoms were doing. It was hilarious and outrageous and wrong. If he had known, during all his years of longing for Lily, that _this_ would one day be his fate… Well, perhaps he would have stopped longing for her a while ago out of sheer humiliation.

It was certainly hard to take all of his supposedly eternal adolescent passion seriously when everything, absolutely everything in this moment, was impressing upon him how utterly ridiculous it had been.

He wondered if his older self felt the same way, or if the decades of anguish and grief and bitter regret he had endured were too overpowering to allow him to grasp the absurdity of it all. Severus wouldn't be sure if that would be better or worse – on the one hand, his older self seemed convinced he was doomed to a lifetime of unhappiness and loneliness, but on the other, Severus couldn't help feeling a bite of shame at his own fickleness, at the fleeting nature of feelings he had always assumed were unchangeable.

Of everything in his life, his love for Lily had always been the one constant, unbreakable in the face of any obstacle or disappointment. Yet now…

His feelings had shifted, wholly and completely. It was hard to trust himself, in the face of that.

He had found it impossible not to observe his own feelings during the Order meeting that evening, and to note, with both relief and surprise, that he felt no longing, no jealousy, no love for Lily. It was like his feelings had evaporated.

It was unnerving.

He had always been a deeply loyal, devoted, and committed friend. Even if she had never chosen him – and, really, he had never truly expected her to – he had intended to hold her above all others in his esteem, in beauty, in intelligence, in kindness, in a whole host of things that he could barely even discern in her now.

Had he just been blind? Had she never been what he had thought she was? Or had she changed? He obviously had. He was no longer the desperate, eager, needy boy he had been. And he had _needed_ her. She had been everything to him. He had defined himself wholly by her existence, and by her feelings toward him.

It seemed pathetic now, but more than that, it seemed _bizarre._ Whatever shift had occurred inside him had been so complete that he couldn't even empathize with what he had felt a few weeks ago. He didn't _need_ Lily. He didn't _need_ anyone. But perhaps that was because now he had someone – several someones. His older self, Hermione, even Ginny and Harry had proven themselves more loyal friends to him in the past week than Lily ever had. It had opened his eyes to an entirely new way of living. He was not _alone._

It was like this dark, terrible edge he had been teetering on all his life had suddenly been bridged. The chasm was still there, the anger and pain and resentment, but the idea that he might plunge headlong into it was inconceivable.

He was _not_ alone.

He didn't even feel that he had _stopped_ liking Lily because he had _started_ liking Hermione. Hermione did not replace Lily in his heart. Hermione was in a completely different place, a much bigger and safer and more intriguing place, a place he hadn't even had the ability to imagine before he'd met her. There was still an urgency, an intensity to what he felt for her, but it wasn't _hopeless._ So much of what he had felt for Lily had simply been hopelessness.

It was strange not to feel that dire, tragic ache. He might almost have wondered if what he felt for Hermione wasn't simply much weaker, if it hadn't been for how _happy_ he felt when he was near her.

Happy, in the middle of a war. Happy, defying the Dark Lord and the Ministry. Happy, risking his neck to save the world. Happy, when reality had lost all structure and rule.

There were times when he looked at her – like last night, in the library, when she had been so panicked and frustrated – and he felt a wild joyous feeling rise up inside him, affection and admiration and hope all mingled with a fierce desire to _protect_ her, to support her, to tease and encourage, to be teased and encouraged by her. She was a strange, frantic, unstoppable little woman, utterly unlike Lily (who seemed so _normal_ now), and Severus treasured each look, each word, each smile from her, because it was so undeniably obvious that she _liked_ him.

Not romantically, not necessarily. He really had no idea if she liked him like _that_ or not. But she liked him, as a person, as a friend. She admired him and wanted to spend time with him. It was intoxicating, in a way Lily's obliging conversations had long since ceased to be.

It was painful to realize, but Severus really didn't think he'd ever been _liked_ by anyone in his entire life.

Lily had appreciated his company when they were small, before Hogwarts, when he was her one and only source of information about the magical world. But after that? After they'd been Sorted? Had he really been anything more than a charity project to her from that point forward? Had she ever looked forward to seeing him, or gone out of her way to make time for him that he hadn't specifically asked her to spend?

Their friendship had been part pity, part obligation, and perhaps part nostalgia, but it had not been admiration or hope or affection, and the memories he had thought of then as happy ones seemed more like anguished desperation to him now, drops of precious water to a child dying of thirst.

With Hermione there was no desperation, because there was no lack. She gave him her friendship – no, she flooded him with her friendship – and there really wasn't any resisting the deluge.

Hermione Granger had decided to make him a treasured part of her life, and so he was.

The light from her ring winked out, and he heard her heave a dramatic sigh of relief. Grinning into the darkness, Severus allowed warm happiness to fill him again. He treasured her, too – always.


	54. Chapter 54

54

Alice hastily tugged her robes on, glancing at the clock and making a face. "Late, late, late," she muttered, putting her socks on inside out, staring at them in annoyance, and then deciding, to hell with it, what did she care?

"Moody will understand," Frank said.

Alice snorted. Moody was _not_ understanding. And she was fully prepared for the half-knowing, half-judging look he would deliver to both of them when they arrived.

After all, it was she who had (perhaps a little too gleefully) explained to everyone at the Order meeting that she and Frank would be, how should she say it, _consummating_ their union (and by extension those of everyone linked to their rings) immediately after the meeting. Poor little Severus had been especially horrified. Alice and Frank had left the Order meeting with plenty of time to accomplish that particular goal before their scheduled initiation this evening, but, well…

Frank was a _very_ considerate lover. And not _everything_ they had done had registered with the rings.

Grinning to herself, and deciding to hell with Moody, too, Alice fastened her warmest cloak (Azkaban was bloody cold) and laced up her boots with a tap of her wand.

"All right, husband," she said, both envious and admiring that he had managed to dress himself without the obvious mishaps she had suffered. He was waiting calmly by the door, as cool and collected as if they'd spent the evening reading the dictionary together (and _not_ the fun dictionary Alice had bought them at a Muggle store). The only indication that anything untoward might have happened between them was the messy tangle on the back of his head where she had grabbed his hair.

She decided not to tell him about it.

Unable to suppress a little skip in her step, she locked the front door behind them and Apparated them both to the creepy little dock where Azkaban's dingy boat was waiting.

"'Bout time," Moody growled.

"So sorry," Alice said unapologetically, over-emphasizing the skip in her step for his benefit. She watched with satisfaction as his gaze paused on Frank's hair.

"Hurry up, you two," Moody snapped, ushering them toward the creaking boat. He gave Alice a particularly disapproving scowl as she blithely grinned in his face.

"All right," he said, as they all settled into the boat and it began cutting its rocky way through the waves. "This won't be nearly as horrible as if you two were doing it on your own, but it won't be a piece of cake, either." He fixed Alice with a belligerent look. "And I don't want to hear about you and Frank sneaking off to some empty cell to keep warm."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Alice replied, snuggling pointedly into Frank's side.

She was glad it was Moody taking them out here, and not one of the other Aurors. Moody might roll his eyes and grumble at them, but he wasn't a stuffy bore who would chide them for unprofessional behavior. She didn't think Moody even knew the definition of professional behavior. Either his Aurors got the job done, or they didn't.

Alice loved that. She loved getting to be her own mischievous self while defeating Dark wizards by her husband's side.

Godric's Hollow had, of course, impressed upon her the sheer horror of the path she had chosen in life, but she wouldn't let that intimidate her. They were going to win the war, and she and Frank and their sometimes-boring colleagues would hunt down the rest of these Death Eater bastards.

She just hoped she didn't get pregnant before the war was won.

Once she was an Auror, she could apply for an exemption – at least that had been her plan, before Granger had figured out this ring-linking spell. Now exemption was out as an option, unless all those couples wanted to link to someone else. They didn't have many alternatives, though. In the Order, the only other happily married couple wearing the Ministry's rings was the Potters, and Alice knew Snape at least would probably rather cut his own hand off than know when those two were _making love,_ as Lily called it.

It was obvious Snape fancied Granger now, but still. Alice could just imagine him writhing in angst, tormenting himself with the memory of feelings that had been pretty absurd to begin with.

There had never been a chance that Lily and Snape would be an item.

Lily and James… Well. Alice had imagined that going better than it actually had. Lily had always been focused on the idea of domestic bliss, but a slaughter at the wedding had undeniably thrown that far out of reach. And James wasn't exactly the sensitive, mature, considerate idol Alice's own husband had turned out to be.

Truthfully, James was a bit of a prick.

Orphaned, friendless, recently married James was even worse.

Alice felt sorry for him, as they all did, but at this point it was hard to imagine the Lily and James love story she had watched develop all through her adolescent years ending well. She could see, as they all probably could, that James hadn't even fully accepted what had happened in Godric's Hollow. As far as she knew, there had been no funeral for his parents, no funeral for Remus. Whether they had been cremated and stuck in jars for future ceremonies or placed in coffins in the Potters' cellar, she had no idea. For all she knew, James was hanging on to their corpses in the hopes of someday resurrecting them. Whatever was on his mind, it was clear he didn't think it was over.

Alice knew people had a variety of reactions to grief, especially in the magical world where so many so-called resurrection spells existed (most of them were variations on the Inferi-raising curse). She had already been warned that, in circumstances other than open war, one of the most common Dark offenses Aurors investigated was attempts to resurrect loved ones from the grave. Aurors usually went easy on those ones, at least when Crouch wasn't around.

Still, of all people, she would not have expected James Potter, self-appointed enemy of all things Dark, to fixate on some possibility of resurrection. Not that James and his friends weren't hypocrites extraordinaire, but resurrection?

He should _know_ better.

Not just that it was wrong (she generally assumed James wasn't an expert on that subject), but that it was _impossible._

So what was it that made him think it _was_ possible? She'd been puzzling over that – well, not much, because she'd had better things to do – but in a few spare moments here and there.

If James Potter thought he could bring people back from the dead, what was he planning to do?

She didn't seriously think he could inflict too much damage – it _was_ impossible to truly resurrect the dead – but Lily was her friend, and she didn't particularly like the thought of Lily waking up in the middle of the night with the burnt-to-a-crisp corpse of Remus Lupin hovering over her bed, or something equally traumatizing.

She considered asking Moody and Frank about it now, but the wind had started to hiss around them as the waves slapped and frothed at the edges of the boat, and she doubted either of them would be able to hear her unless she started yelling.

It really just wasn't worth that level of effort.

Instead, she enjoyed the warm feel of Frank beside her and even the craggy scowl on Moody's face as he gazed suspiciously out at the night, lit only by the occasional ray of sparse moonlight streaking through the clouds. Soon, Alice knew, they would be close enough to Azkaban to feel the Dementors' chill, and as part of their initiation they would be forbidden to cast Patronuses. The Aurors had followed this tradition for more than a century, initiating new members by forcing them to experience _exactly_ what they would be inflicting on others whenever they chose to charge someone with a crime.

It was meant to teach them mercy, for those offenders who might not deserve this. It was meant to harden them against those who did.

Alice didn't really feel like the lesson was necessary. She had a pretty firm sense of who she would and wouldn't want to subject to the soul-sucking misery of a Dementor-ridden island in the middle of the North Sea. Frank, she was certain, had an even firmer sense, but unlike her, he had not spoken a word of complaint. She had the sneaking suspicion that he was curious, that he would seek to learn and grow from this experience as he would from any other. Alice, on the other hand, was irritated, thought it was a waste of time, and despised the idea of spending a night reliving her worst memories.

As if sensing her thoughts, Frank's arm tightened around her. At least, she reflected, she would be here with him.

Not alone, to curl up in mindless horror in some dark, dank corner until the Aurors found her the next morning.

And really, the idea of sneaking into an empty cell and cuddling all night was _very_ appealing. It defied the point of the initiation, but it was appealing.

Creeping tendrils of unnatural, more-than-wintry cold began to slide around them, painfully hungry. Alice and Frank had both been trained in the basics of Occlumency, but whereas Frank had picked it up fairly quickly, Alice had always struggled with it. Never had she been more aware of it than now, when, in lieu of Moody's gruff but businesslike intrusions into her mind, she felt something alien, something wholly inhuman, prying into her with icy malevolence.

She had been in the presence of Dementors before, but it was different now that she'd been trained to recognize mental invasions. She was aware, in a wholly new way, of how naked her mind and feelings were, how vulnerable to attack – to extraction.

She could feel joy and hope and courage bleeding out of her, mercilessly drawn out with shivering greed. She gripped Frank tightly, his robes, his arm, his waist, she didn't even know, just trying to burrow closer to him and away from _them._

Merlin, and they hadn't even _seen_ a Dementor yet.

Moody was unmoved; he might have been a little paler than usual, but that could as easily have been the moonlight, its last pitiful gleam vanishing through the fog that washed over them all.

The night was no longer black, but an empty gray, and Alice could see the first shadows moving through it.

She would be spending the night with those shadows.

She bit her lip against the question rising like a shriek inside her. _Why are you doing this to me?_ She wanted to grab Moody and make him turn the boat around. Futilely, she tried to keep her Occlumency shields in place.

 _Clear your mind,_ she heard Moody's voice echoing in her head, but that had never worked for her. The closest she'd ever come to repelling him had not been from _clearing_ her mind, but from _filling_ it – filling it with barriers, images of walls and spikes and chimaeras and unbreakable doors. It was an amateur technique, but she didn't care. She imagined her Patronus, a hummingbird, its bright colors lost in silver magic. She let it fill her mind, even as her fingers itched to find her wand. For a brief moment, the cold abated. She felt Frank's warmth again, and realized she could feel his heart beating under her hand.

She kept her eyes closed, clinging to the hummingbird, imagining its wings whirring too fast for the Dementors to catch.

 _You can't come in,_ she thought fiercely. _I won't let you._

The cold practically burned the skin of her exposed face, but she didn't let go of the image.

It was a jolting shock when the boat scraped against rock. She felt Frank move beside her, felt his arms pulling her upward. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes, trying to concentrate, trying not to lose the hummingbird, but the dark towering walls of Azkaban seemed to crush her little mental Patronus. There was nothing bright or sweet or delicate here. There was only cold, harsh rock, and colder, harsher hunger. The empty sucking voids of the Dementors surrounded her on every side, and she resisted the urge to climb back into the boat.

It was ridiculous, her falling to pieces like this. It was _annoying._ Frank was standing there, deathly pale but expressionless and calm, while she was practically hugging him as he pulled her toward the fortress's gates.

Moody said something, she didn't hear what. She had the horrible, creeping feeling that he was speaking not to them but to the Dementors. She had seen Aurors speak to Dementors before – it was a necessity when turning over prisoners – but never before had it struck her as so ominous, this communion with evil, this alliance with creatures that wanted to _drain_ them.

"Frank," she whispered, not with any purpose, just to say his name, a safe name, a beloved name.

"It's all right, Alice," he whispered back, unheard by any but her, and yet she had the distinct and nauseating impression that the Dementors were aware of them, that they recognized the intimacy between them, that they hungered for it.

"All right," Moody said, and his words were once more for the living. "Remember, you two: no Patronuses. But if you see any sign of Death Eaters –"

"We have the coins," Frank said, his voice incomprehensibly steady. Alice would have resented him for it, if his presence in the circle of her arms hadn't been so entirely necessary to her own survival.

She felt Moody's eyes sweep over her, felt his hesitation, felt his guilt as he muttered, "Shouldn't be rushing the training like this."

"I'm fine," Alice tried to say, but it came out as such a pitiful whisper that she wasn't even sure he had heard her.

"No help for it," Moody growled, perhaps to himself. "Stay safe, Frank… Alice."

She heard the _thunk-thunk_ of his wooden leg becoming fainter and fainter as he left them, and fought the urge to turn and run after him.

"I'm falling to pieces," she whispered.

"It's all right," Frank said again. "I'm with you."

Thank Merlin for _that._ She couldn't imagine going through this alone. Even if she'd been given a couple of extra years' worth of training, she didn't think she'd be ready to face this nightmare. _Ever._

She tried to get a grip as Frank gently pulled her forward, through the gates, up a series of jagged ominous stairs. So this was what it was like to be led to Azkaban. That gaping black hole of a doorway swallowed them all.

With a sudden wash of horror, she remembered that Sirius had been swallowed up like this, that Sirius was in this prison _right now,_ and that he had been for days.

And Snape… Snape had been here for _months,_ all for standing up for Lily.

No wonder he had fallen head over heels for Granger. If someone had saved _her_ from this place, she'd probably have fallen in love with them, too.

Frank paused in front of the horrifyingly black entryway, and Alice thought it was not just for her sake. He was bracing himself, and she suddenly felt ashamed of herself, that she was burdening him when he was enduring this, too.

"We can do it," she whispered. "If Snape could stand it…"

"Snape isn't as weak as he looks," Frank murmured back. "And he must have worse memories than me…"

It was a strange thought, one she had never considered before: what Snape must remember when he was near Dementors. It was exactly the kind of question Frank would wonder about. Frank himself had never endured anything so terrible that the Dementors' presence became debilitating to him, at least not when there were only a handful of them, although maybe that had changed after the wedding. Alice had always had worse memories than Frank, but Snape?

She had personally _witnessed_ moments in Snape's life that were worse than anything she had ever experienced (or, at least, anything she had experienced before Godric's Hollow). People had tried to hurt her before, but she had always been tough and resourceful enough to get herself out of those situations. Then again, she'd never been outnumbered and hounded the way Snape had always been at school.

That underwear incident after the O.W.L.s… Alice wondered, for the first time, if it had ever been worse than that. The Shrieking Shack prank, for sure. But had there been others, just as bad? Frank had probably wondered about this before, had probably drawn any number of conclusions about Snape's life that she had never thought to consider. And Frank had shared a dorm with the so-called Marauders. No doubt he'd heard about things that she and Lily hadn't.

Thinking about Snape's wretched life made her feel oddly braver about entering Azkaban. Frank might have felt the same, or he might have just finally screwed up his courage, but they moved forward together, Alice no longer clinging to him quite so desperately, though she hadn't made the slightest move to let go.

The dark, cold, frozen corridor of stone that stretched before them left her shivering, glancing around into the near-blackness in search of Dementors. She kept the thought of her hummingbird close, a silvery light that wavered in eyes that actually saw only darkness. She could feel Frank trembling slightly, though whether at the cold or at the misery, she couldn't tell.

They moved through chambers in an aimless way, seeing passages opening up on every side, stairways carved up into stone, and down into cold salt-scented darkness. Moans echoed from some of the cells, which oddly made Alice feel calmer; she was not a prisoner here, nor was she alone.

"Should we look for Sirius?" she whispered.

Frank considered that. "Might make it worse."

Alice understood what he meant immediately. Sirius would want them to break him out. Not that they could; they wouldn't receive the keys to Azkaban until after their initiation, and even then, any cell unlocked with those keys would be recorded in the records room at the Ministry. There was no way to break anyone out without getting caught for it. Not even Granger had managed it.

Still, she thought Sirius might benefit from some hope. He might not even know who had survived the battle at Godric's Hollow. She doubted Crouch had been forthcoming with the details when he'd dragged him out here.

"I think we should see him," she told Frank.

He considered it for a moment, then nodded, led her very decisively down a corridor to their right. He must have examined the diagram Moody had drawn Granger during the Order meeting – he obviously knew where Sirius was being kept. Alice had glanced at the map, too, but she hadn't exactly bothered to memorize it.

Voices rose in surprised and hungry chorus around them as they passed, graying, wasted hands reaching out from between bars.

"Please," the voices begged. "Let me out –"

"I didn't do it, I didn't do it –"

"I'm sorry!"

"I'll marry her, I swear, I'll have as many kids as you want!"

"Just _look_ at me, please!"

Alice involuntarily looked at the last prisoner, meeting his pale, pleading eyes in his gaunt beggar face.

"You're pretty," he said.

She scowled and moved on.

There were Demetors gathered around Sirius's cell, almost as if they'd heard Alice and Frank talking, or sensed their intention. Their hoods hung down over shadowy voids as they turned as one to face Frank and Alice. Alice shivered; Frank said bravely, "Move aside."

The Dementors seemed to grow taller, or else the shadows descended around them. Alice could feel their resistance, their resentment, their resolution not to let them pass. She pictured her hummingbird, and felt something almost like contempt radiating from the figures before them – contempt for her humanity, for her feelings, for her sentiment.

Contempt, and hunger.

Frank took a step forward, which in Alice's opinion was one of the most impressive things he'd ever done. " _Move,_ " he commanded.

For a moment, the Dementors stared him down (though they had no eyes, she felt certain they _stared_ ). Then they glided backward into the darkness, leaving Frank and Alice to shiver in relief and horror as they clutched each other's arms.

"Frank?" a hoarse whisper sounded in the darkness.

They drew closer to the cell the Dementors had been guarding, cautious because the voice they'd heard sounded nothing like Sirius Black.

Yet there he was, unmistakably: he wore the same red and gold robes he had worn to the wedding, torn and singed and bloody though they were. His face, though, was haggard, even after a mere week in Azkaban, his hair unkempt, his skin (in the light of the _Lumos_ spell Alice dared to cast) sallow. He looked like he'd been in Azkaban for an eternity.

Alice wondered briefly what memories _he_ was reliving.

Remus's death, no doubt. In fact, his appearance now could as easily be the result of anguished grief as of the Dementors' effects.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked, his voice still that hoarse whisper. There was no hope in it; whatever Frank had feared, it was obvious Sirius was beyond any expectation of escape.

"It's our initiation," Frank said quietly. "Thought we'd pay you a visit."

Sirius gazed at them both with a hungry despair that Alice found unsettling. "It's good to see you." He drew in a breath, as if he were breathing them in – living humans, humans who, however grudgingly, cared about his existence. "James? Lily? Remus – I know I didn't imagine that," he whispered.

"No," Frank said quietly. "Remus is gone."

Sirius's face threatened to crumple.

"James and Lily are well… as well as can be expected. James's parents died in the attack."

"The Potters?" Sirius asked, a glint of horror awakening in his eyes. "They're dead?"

"Yes."

Sirius's face did crumple then. "Who else?"

Frank named the dead. When he got to Flitwick, Sirius clutched the bars and groaned. "No… why? Why would they…?"

Alice didn't think he was expecting any answer. After all, they all knew why the Death Eaters had attacked – as much as any sane, decent person could _know_ why evil maniacs did anything.

"Crouch has been arrested," Alice said, hoping to distract him. "We're trying to get the marriage law overturned."

Sirius blinked at her. "Crouch? The Death Eater?"

"No, his dad."

Sirius blinked at her again, seeming to wake up a bit more. " _Crouch?_ "

"Yep. He attacked Moody after… well, after Moody said it was his fault Bellatrix Lestrange killed his wife."

"Bellatrix Lestrange killed his wife?"

"We think. Not many other Death Eaters it could have been, at this point. Most of them are dead or in here."

Sirius kept blinking as he digested this. "And the marriage law? You think you can end it?" There was the faintest hint of hope in his voice.

"We're working on it," Alice said.

"What about Snape?" he asked suddenly. "Did he and that Hermione girl marry?"

Of all the things he could have asked. Alice rolled her eyes. "Yes, Sirius, they got married."

Sirius made a face of deep horror. " _Him._ "

"Yep."

"And her?"

"They're pretty cute together," Alice said, to goad him, both because he was being an idiot and because she thought goading him would drive some of the despair out of his eyes.

It worked. He made a gagging noise, seemed to recover some of his old self for a few seconds. " _Snape,_ " he muttered.

"Heard you proposed to Granger," Frank said, eyebrows raised.

Sirius made a face. "Obviously I dodged a Bludger," he muttered. "She must be a complete lunatic."

Alice grinned, thought about telling him about the ring-linking, then decided against it. Let him think Snape had finally lost his virginity, and to a pretty, brilliant witch, at that – a witch who had _rejected_ Sirius. In any case, Alice didn't want to risk the Dementors overhearing anything. She didn't know that they would fully understand the concepts involved – she wasn't really sure _what_ they understood – but if they grasped that dozens of couples were breaking the law, that dozens more souls could be brought to them… well, Alice wasn't going to take that risk.

Apparently Frank thought it best not to tell Sirius about the rings, either, because he said nothing, a small smile on his face – though whether that smile was in appreciation of Sirius's obvious discomfort with the idea of Snape having a lover or in memory of how exactly Snape was avoiding taking that lover, Alice wasn't sure. She thought it might be the latter, though. It was the same kind of little smile he sometimes had when they were…

Saving innocent couples from arrest.

For a moment, as Frank reminisced and Alice enjoyed him reminiscing and Sirius made faces at them both, it was like they weren't in Azkaban, like Dementors weren't hovering in every shadow.

Then Alice's _Lumos_ flickered across the walls, though her hand was perfectly steady. It took only a second for them all to realize, even as a distant rumbling echoed toward them from some distant place –

The _walls_ were moving.


	55. Chapter 55

55

The uncomfortable glow of the rings had long since abated, yet Severus lay awake, listening to the soft breathing of his younger self and scowling at the bunk bed, which was _still_ shaking every now and then as Miss Weasley harassed Potter. They were all supposed to be sleeping, but Severus suspected that only his younger self and Dobby had managed it; Miss Granger certainly wouldn't be getting any sleep with the bed shaking like that, Fiend was busy kneading her paws into his side with an occasional sharp prick of her claws, and as for him…

His thoughts were too alive.

It had begun with the bloody rings, of course. He had been lying there, comfortably alternating between contemplations of the impending attack on Azkaban and surges of amused annoyance at Miss Weasley's antics, when the unpleasant glow had begun to suffuse the tent. His younger self, predictably, had shoved his ring out of sight immediately (a wise course), but Miss Granger hadn't bothered, and had proceeded to have some kind of muffled hysterical fit which had drawn even Miss Weasley's attention.

And now, wholly against his will, Severus was contemplating… them.

Not the Longbottoms, thank Merlin. No, he had managed to keep those thoughts at bay. But his younger self… and Miss Granger.

He had never expected to be confronted by something like _this._

Had he ever bothered to imagine how Miss Granger and her dunderheaded friends would respond to a younger version of himself, he would have assumed they would treat him with the same disdain every other Gryffindor had. Miss Granger might have been overly obsessed with the fact that he was her future teacher, and Potter and Weasley (or, in this case, Miss Weasley) would have taken the opportunity to humiliate him as much as they dared.

Never in a million years would he have considered the possibility that they would, with hardly any fuss whatsoever, simply accept him as a friend and a valuable addition to their team.

And yet there was no denying that they had. Potter seemed to harbor no resentment toward his former professor's younger self, not even now that it was becoming embarrassingly obvious that the boy fancied Miss Granger. Indeed, Potter and Miss Weasley both seemed to approve of the entire situation. And Miss Granger…

Severus had the distinct impression that Miss Granger had at least some small romantic inclination toward his younger self.

It was _bizarre._ Utterly bizarre. His younger self, no longer in love with Lily, had devoted all of his affections to the same bookish know-it-all terror who had plagued Severus for six years. And that terror, who had distrusted him so much she had set him on _fire,_ was developing feelings for the younger, more awkward, more emotional version of himself.

If she had been anyone else, he would have assumed it was a prank. He would have assumed she was misleading his younger self, purposefully drawing his affections toward herself so she could crush whatever was left of his hope and innocence. But this was Hermione Granger, champion of the downtrodden, founder of _Spew._ She would have rather shaved her hair clean off than purposefully inflict that level of cruelty on an innocent.

And it was plain that she _did_ consider the younger Severus an innocent. There was a protective, almost possessive look in her eye whenever she was near him, especially if James Potter was also in the room.

Severus could not overlook the irony that, in his own timeline, he had taken the Mark the same day she had met this younger version of himself. He had been anything from innocent, and as far from deserving her protection as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Yet here they were, in an alternate world where he had chosen differently, and Severus could not deny that his younger self was worthier than _he_ had ever been. Worthier, and more innocent.

And _not_ in love with Lily.

It baffled him. It disturbed him. It relieved him.

He himself could not claim to be in love with Lily anymore – not after seeing her here, not after recognizing how young she had truly been, and how far from any life he would have wished to lead. Marriage and children and grandchildren and Merlin knew what other horrors – at no age, in no world could Severus imagine himself being content with having only that. He needed _more_ – he needed greatness, he always had. He had sought out a low, twisted incarnation of it as a Death Eater, but even after he had forsaken that path and all his ambitions, he had never lost that craving.

His younger self had it, too, and it was evident that he saw in Miss Granger an ambition that surpassed even his own.

But what about Severus? His younger self and Miss Granger might have a shared path ahead of them (or they might not; they were from different worlds, and besides that, they were teenagers), but he could not even imagine such a thing for himself. What future was there for him, after they had destroyed this world's Dark Lord and freed this Wizarding Britain from the marriage law?

What was he going to _become?_

It was a thought he had hardly ever contemplated before. As a teenager, he had assumed he would become a Death Eater. After Lily had died, he had surrendered all choice in the matter; he had become the Hogwarts Potions Master and a spy, and had served Dumbledore loyally until the end of the war. He had expected to die then, but had survived, and in the months since had been living day to day, aimless except for the impositions of those people who had decided they were his friends: weekly dinners with the Longbottoms, weekly research meetings with Miss Granger, the occasional invitation (which was really a command) to tea with Minerva, a drink at the pub every other month or so with Filius.

Beyond that… nothing. Emptiness. He had Fiend, but though she excelled at forcing him to get out of bed in the morning, she had not exactly provided him with a higher purpose. He had been going through the motions ever since he woke up in St. Mungo's after the final battle, and he would be going through them again once they returned to their own world. Even this experience, this echo of wars he had already fought, had not provided him with the sense of meaning he truly wanted. It was a bandage over a gaping wound, when he needed a remedy to close it.

He needed to _heal._

He had never considered the possibility before this. He had not thought he deserved it, or that the crimes he had committed could ever release him from their agonizing shame. He was still ashamed, still guilty, but the all-consuming self-hatred that had tormented him for most of his life was – well, if not gone, at least significantly lessened.

But in its place was… nothing.

Not hope or happiness, certainly. Not meaning or redemption. Not love. Even his love for Lily seemed to have seeped away, less fickle perhaps than his younger self's, but still not strong enough to withstand the pull of time (or other worlds). He was confident in himself, but he did not _like_ himself. There was not enough of him left, after all that had happened, to like.

Did he _want_ to like himself? That was a question he had never considered before, either. Did he want to feel better, to feel whole (or some approximation of it), to enjoy the happiness and meaning other people experienced? Did he want to escape the gaping crater Lily had left in his life? Did he want to _move on?_

He contemplated the almost unfathomable concept for several moments, trying to imagine it. What did he want? A career? Doing _what?_ Friends? Did the absurd Gryffindors around him count? _Love?_ He instinctively sneered at the thought. Who would love him?

And, he reflected, who would _he_ love?

Was he even _capable_ of love? Outside of the tenderness he felt for Fiend?

He didn't even _like_ people.

And what was the point of it all, anyway? What was the meaning of life?

He rolled his eyes at himself in the dark, huffing out a breath and hovering between amusement and despair. He just wanted his life to make sense again. He wanted to have a place, a purpose, a mission. He had always known where he belonged before – first at Hogwarts, then among the Death Eaters, then back at Hogwarts again. Now?

He was displaced. Rootless. Homeless and loveless.

Pointless.

He scowled, knowing the thought was absurd. If nowhere else, he had a point _here, now,_ in this chaotic facsimile of his own past. There were people who cared about him, both here and in the world he had left behind. He was an intelligent and talented man, and could no doubt achieve all sorts of good if he only committed himself to a cause.

But he didn't _feel_ it. He didn't feel committed, or loved, or meaningful. Most days dragging himself out of bed was a monumental struggle that was only accomplished because of Fiend's insistent meowing for breakfast. Most days he just wanted to go back to bed after feeding her, but again, her outrageous insistence on cuddling and petting and bonding made it impossible to simply collapse into a nihilistic stupor.

Even now, the regular prick of her claws was a sharp reminder that he was not alone, and therefore not allowed to rest… to die.

Both annoyed and philosophically grateful, he rubbed her ears and enjoyed her immediate answering purr.

He just needed some kind of _spark._ Something to set him ablaze, as his father's wrath and the Marauders' bullying and Lily's death all had done. Something to set him in passionate motion. Something to make him feel alive (although, admittedly, the three previous instigators of his behavior had all been horrific and miserable, something he was not particularly keen to experience again). Something like –

Fiend bristled beneath his hand suddenly, her claws digging hard and deep into his side. At the same moment, he felt the coin in his pocket burn.

He heard several gasps, then blinked in the light of the _Lumos_ Miss Granger cast. As one, they all examined their coins.

 _Azkaban attack now._

Potter and Miss Weasley were tumbling out of bed in a tangled mass, both already fully clothed and reaching in some confusion for their shoes. Severus's younger self was on his feet and fastening his cloak. Severus himself was preparing to tell Fiend she had to stay.

"Wait!" Miss Granger suddenly cried out.

Everyone stared at her.

"The message – it's not from Frank and Alice –"

"Who cares?" Potter asked, half-disbelieving, half-panicked.

"It's not from anyone on the list!" Miss Granger exclaimed, completely panicked.

Severus took a moment to appreciate that even in this moment of crisis Miss Granger had taken the time to verify the message's origin, even as his younger self asked, "But then who could have –"

"Dobby knows!" the elf squeaked suddenly, startling them all. Severus, for one, had forgotten the elf was there.

"You know?" Potter asked, baffled and beginning to look apprehensive.

"Dobby is giving Regulus Black a coin!" the elf announced, obviously delighted with himself. "So that Regulus Black can be warning the Order of the Phoenix of attacks!"

They stared at him, stunned.

"But, Dobby," Potter asked, visibly struggling to remain calm in light of the glaring threat to security they had all failed to recognize, "why haven't you said anything before?"

Dobby's ears twitched. "Regulus Black was not sure he is wanting to help, sir," he said. "So Dobby is waiting and hoping he will change his mind, and now he has, sir! He has decided to help!"

They all exchanged a nervous glance, but again it was Potter who spoke, beginning to look more thoughtful than alarmed. "Regulus _did_ turn on Riddle after what happened to Kreacher –"

"And we already knew an attack was coming, what would be the point in tipping us off?" Miss Weasley added.

"It would be a stupid trap," Miss Granger said. "We're already prepared for the worst, it's _Azkaban,_ after all."

"I think we should trust him," Potter said.

"But the Longbottoms haven't sent a message," Severus's younger self pointed out.

"Then perhaps we should send them one," Severus replied, pointing his wand at his coin and spelling out to the entire Order, _Previous unconfirmed. Verify?_

For long moments, nothing happened. Severus could easily imagine the rest of the Order, halfway through responding to the first message, pausing with bated breath to await confirmation.

Dobby's ears twitched impatiently. "Regulus Black would not be tricking us!"

"We don't think so either, Dobby," Potter said. "But we have to check, to be safe."

"Smart move, though, giving him the coin," Miss Weasley said. "Seeing how we don't have our usual spy." She glanced at Severus with a half-smile that was marred by anxiety.

"Yes," Severus said. "If Regulus is true, this could be an enormous advant-"

"It's burning!" Miss Granger exclaimed. They all looked down at their coins.

 _VERIFIED. HURRY._

"Well, there you go," Miss Weasley said. "Dobby's the best tactician we have."

* * *

The walls of Sirius's cell had begun to tremble. He could feel a strange shivering sensation in his body, even in his bones, and in the gray nightmare his life had become, he couldn't tell whether the sensation was physical or magical, real or imagined. The light of Alice's wand jerked in sharp flashes across the stone, disorienting Sirius and making him shut his eyes as sudden nausea overwhelmed him.

The rumbling of broken stone echoed down the stone corridors. Not his imagination, then. Azkaban really was moving.

It was impossible to tell how far away it was – or how near. When he opened his eyes again, both Alice and Frank were looking at their coins.

" _Azkaban attack now,_ " Frank read out slowly. "But who –?"

Something – a spell, perhaps – jolted the fortress, and a shock of some shuddering, dangerous magic swept over them, cracking the walls and shaking loose a mist of the stale, cold water that had clung to them.

"There's another one," Alice said, still gripping her coin. " _Previous unconfirmed –_ "

She tapped her wand against the coin, muttering, "It's bloody verified!"

"We need to find them," Frank said, and Sirius knew he meant the Death Eaters. Who else could have launched this kind of assault?

"Don't leave me," he whispered, the words escaping him before he could restrain them.

Alice and Frank both glanced at him as if they had forgotten he was there. He felt a deep flush of shame suffuse him, and seriously wished he hadn't opened his mouth. He could only imagine James's face if he'd heard it.

"We can't –" Alice began.

"Behind you!" Sirius gasped.

From the darkened corridor, shadows began to emerge, fast and relentless, an icy blast of cold rushing ahead of them. Alice shrieked; a Dementor had gripped hold of her wrist.

Frank raised his wand and, with a shaking voice, yelled, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

An enormous crane burst from the tip of his wand, wings spread wide. Silver flooded the stone hallway, and the Dementors glided backward, the dark spaces beneath their hoods turned toward Frank with malevolence and resentment.

Sirius's heart was racing. He felt both glad of his cell and the barrier it provided between him and the Dementors, and trapped, helpless, afraid.

He needed a bloody _wand._

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Alice snapped out, sounding angry rather than happy or hopeful, but despite her tone a diamond-bright hummingbird burst from her wand, then another, then another, then another. They flitted among the Dementors, scattering them, then raced away in little flashes of light.

"Where'd you send them?" Sirius asked, not at all certain she should have left Frank's Patronus unaccompanied. It _looked_ strong enough, but he could see more shadows shifting in the darkness beyond, and knew more Dementors were flooding toward them.

"To protect the other prisoners," Alice said, in a tone that suggested this should have been obvious. "If the Dementors have turned, this whole place is a feast for them –"

"Like it wasn't before?" Sirius muttered, but he had to approve of her quick thinking. "Good call, Alice."

"Not my idea," she responded briskly, not looking at him, all of her attention focused on the Dementors her husband's Patronus was holding back, and on the hummingbirds that kept flitting from her wand. "This is the plan, we knew this could happen –"

"You knew?" Sirius asked, startled.

Though Alice still didn't look at him, he saw her jerk her head in impatience. "What else can he do? We killed off all the Death Eaters he had out of prison. Well, almost all – there's still Bellatri-"

"Shh!" Frank had gone tense, his crane responding with a sharp flap of its wings. "Listen!"

The rumbling of stone had abated, but Frank was right: there _was_ something else. Cries, of fear or of hope – Sirius couldn't tell.

Then the unmistakable blast of a curse, a very distant flash of red light, glinting dully on the walls of the corridor's far end.

"Battle already?" Alice asked.

"Or they're blowing up the cells," Frank replied. "You-Know-Who doesn't have a key."

"The Dementors have keys," Sirius said grimly, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

"We need to know what's _happening,_ " Alice muttered, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet and looking both terrified and furious.

"We should go," Frank said.

Sirius opened his mouth to object – Merlin, but he didn't want to be alone again – but Frank turned back and gave him a bracing look. "It'll be twenty minutes at least before the Order gets here," he said. "The Apparation wards extend for miles in every direction, they'll have to fly in or come by boat. Until then, there's just Alice and me."

Sirius understood that, enough to jerk out a nod of assent, but inside his stomach was twisting, his blood chilling at the thought of being alone in here again, with the Dementors apparently unrestrained now by any of the Ministry's restrictions. Alice and Frank both saw the look on his face; he could see their pity and reluctance.

"We'll leave a Patronus," Alice said, and another hummingbird – so _tiny_ – popped out of her wand.

"Keep out of sight," Frank advised.

Then they were gone, forcing their way through the horde of Dementors with Frank's Patronus in the lead. Sirius watched the graceful wings of the crane swing through the air, then vanish into the shadows around a corner, taking Frank and Alice with them.

Outside of Sirius's cell, the Dementors towered in wraithlike fury, their icy darkness blotting out all hope and sanity. Sirius stumbled backward, hissing in fear as scaly, clammy hands curled around the bars of his cell. One of the Dementors drew something glinting out of its robes: the key.

In front of the keyhole, the little hummingbird fluttered determinedly, its jewel-bright wings a silver blur.

The Dementor tried to brush it aside, but it zipped forward, and the Dementor drew its hand back as if stung. Sirius watched as every hooded head – if Dementors had heads – lowered to stare in black malice at the little Patronus.

Unfazed, the Patronus refused to budge.

Sirius held his breath, watching the silent standoff in mingled terror and hope. The hummingbird looked so fragile, so minuscule, and yet…

The Dementors could not get past it.

Sirius could feel their frustration rising, could feel the icy pull of despair. For a moment, the cell disappeared entirely, and he could see Remus again, an Inferius, Remus, dead and mutilated, Remus, defiled. He clutched his hands to his face and tried to push the memory away. He wanted to draw closer to the little hummingbird, but Frank's warning whispered in his mind: _Keep out of sight._ Sirius could just imagine how happy his dear cousin Bellatrix would be to find him here.

And Regulus… Sirius didn't want to think about Regulus.

He looked around his cell, realizing immediately that there wasn't really anywhere to hide. The pile of blankets on the floor was about as much shelter as he could find.

Huddling down in the corner with the blankets pulled up to cover his face, he left just enough of a gap in the folds that he could still see the Patronus.

Beyond, the Dementors hovered silently, watching him and biding their time.

* * *

Out on the waves, Moody slowly and carefully brought the boat scraping back through the rocks toward the shore. He had never left Azkaban; the risks were too great, and Frank and Alice, skilled though they were, weren't the trained Aurors they were being initiated as. They were just a couple of kids. So he had waited out a half mile or so, watching the fortress's silhouette slip in and out of the fog. The cold was brutal, but he'd conjured his crested eagle Patronus and felt a fair bit more secure than Frank and Alice were probably feeling.

When the Death Eaters had started flying by overhead, he had felt them before he'd seen them, a disturbance in the night, and had extinguished his Patronus immediately. A moment later, he saw a dark shape swish down through the fog, sweeping over the ocean, clearly searching for the source of the glow that must have permeated the fog bank. Moody cursed himself for his lack of caution, his moment of weak reliance on comfort. Readying himself, he aimed his wand at the dark figure, only to watch in dismay as it vanished upward again. He had no idea if he'd been seen or not.

Tapping his wand against the edge of the boat, he'd sent it shooting forward through the waves, zigzagging away from the place where he might have been spotted, circling around to the other side of the island. By then he could hear a distant rumbling sound, could see the Dementors flooding across the sea back toward Azkaban – not as if in surprise, but rather anticipation. Moody followed at a cautious distance, keeping quiet, slowing down. He felt his coin burn in his pocket, glanced at the message – _Azkaban attack now._ Good. So the Order knew.

For a moment, the fog surrounded the fortress entirely, and Moody was left bobbing on the choppy waves, enveloped in silence. Then the echo of distant cries seemed to pour out of the air around him, an eerie sound that made his skin crawl.

Out of the coiling fog, he finally caught sight of the fortress again.

Stone crumbled from a dark hole high in the fortress wall. Moody thought it might once have been a window, but it had been widened by force: stone was still falling from its edges into the sea below, cracking as it struck the island's rocky shore on its way. From within, he caught the faint glimmer of red light. In other windows, he thought he saw the tiny silver gleam of Patronuses – good, Frank and Alice were following the plan.

Bringing the boat to a scraping halt against the island shore, Moody awkwardly climbed out of the boat, glaring all around, noting with grim speculations running through his mind that there were no Dementors anywhere to be seen. They were all inside.

Moody climbed up the rocky shore, his wooden leg thudding against stones and scraping up pebbles. He heard a cry from somewhere above, looked up with wand raised to see a prisoner grasping the bars of his cell, crying out, while a shadowy silhouette hovered above him.

"Damn it," Moody snarled. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

His silver eagle Patronus soared up into the air, flying straight for the window where the man had slumped down out of sight. Moody hoped the prisoner wasn't utter scum, considered for a moment, then decided even most scum didn't deserve the Kiss. The glow of his Patronus filled the cell, and the Dementor retreated out of sight. Feeling the soft tug of magic within him, Moody sent his Patronus after it, set it to patrolling the prison like Alice's Patronuses should be doing.

Resuming his trek across the treacherous shore, Moody glanced around again, watching for Death Eaters and Dementors who might have been left outside.

There was no one.

Feeling uneasy, Moody started climbing the stairs to the fortress.

* * *

"… casting all these Patronuses?"

Sirius jerked out of a half-conscious daze at the sound of the high-pitched, furious voice. _Bellatrix._

"It doesn't matter," another voice answered, a young man by the sound of it, but not Regulus. Barty Crouch, Jr., perhaps?

"It matters!" Bellatrix sounded beside herself. "The Order wasn't supposed to be here, _no one_ was supposed to be here! If they're lying in wait – but what have we here?"

Her voice was loud and clear now, just outside the cell. Sirius resisted the urge to throw off his blanket and lunge at the hateful witch, forced himself to cower down beneath the ragged covering.

"Just another Patronus," Crouch said dismissively.

"The others were moving from cell to cell," Bellatrix said, peering through the bars. The light of the hummingbird cast eerie silver strands through her raven hair. "This one seems to be guarding someone in particular." She sounded more pleased than she had a moment before, like a cat who had spotted a mouse. "Who's that hiding under those blankets?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch and turning singsong. "Come out, come out, whoever you are!"

Sirius gritted his teeth, absolutely _hating_ hiding from her, but knowing full well how stupid it would be to expose himself to a pair of Death Eaters when he didn't even have a wand.

If they would open the door, he could transform… He wondered how well their wands would protect them from his teeth and claws.

He braced himself, gripping the blanket more tightly.

" _Accio!_ " Bella cried out, as he had expected her to. The blanket jerked away from him, but he held on tight.

"Oh, playing hard to get, are we?" Bellatrix said, sounding more intrigued than ever. "Very well… let's see if this wakes you up, shall we?"

Sirius felt a second's horror as he contemplated what Bellatrix might try next. Then he yelped as the blanket burst into flames.

He felt a rush of both anger and humiliation as he cast the fiery covering away, patting at his arms and hair while she laughed at him.

"Little Sirius!" she cried out in delight. "Playing hide and seek from cousin Bella?"

His heart jolted, not at her words, but at the memories they evoked: she really _had_ played hide-and-go-seek with him when he was a child, and Merlin, but it had been terrifying. He still had nightmares about it sometimes: hiding in her family's gardens, knowing there would be pain when she found him, but knowing, too, that he had to be found first, or it would be Regulus she discovered, Regulus she tormented…

Flushing, Sirius glared at her, wishing he hadn't hid in the first place. "Give me a wand, Bella, and I'd be happy to play."

She laughed again, shrill and shrieking. To the left and slightly behind her, Crouch eyed her with undisguised disgust.

"There's no time to play," he said. "The Dark Lord commanded us to free his servants. Kill Black and be done with it."

Bellatrix's gleeful expression wavered slightly at the reminder of her master's commands, but she shrugged it away. "My beloved cousin is a member of the Order of the Phoenix," she said. "He would be more useful to us alive… for now."

Crouch rolled his eyes. "You just want to play with him."

Bellatrix grinned. " _Crucio!_ "

Sirius dropped, writhing and screaming, his fingernails breaking against the stone floor as he tried to grip something, anything, that would keep his hold on sanity. The pain ripped through him like a thousand claws, digging into him, tearing him apart at seams he didn't know he had.

Then it stopped, and he gasped and lunged for the bars. "You bi-" He cut off, choking on his own tongue.

"Naughty, naughty," Bellatrix trilled, releasing the spell so he could breathe.

He glared at her. Merlin, but it was _just_ like his childhood. She was in control, and he was helpless against her.

"You can play later," Crouch said. "Stun him and bring him. I'm finding the others."

Bellatrix shot him a slightly irritated look, then smiled. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Crouch gave her a contemptuous look and strode away. The Dementors parted for him easily, though he had no Patronus. There was something unnerving about it, about _him._ Sirius had never thought much about Crouch, Jr. one way or the other, but the sight of him stalking fearlessly between – and among – the Dementors made the hair at the back of Sirius's neck stand up.

But Crouch was hardly his largest concern at the moment.

"Poor little Barty," Bellatrix said. "He's just cranky because I killed his mummy."

Sirius stared at her, a thousand reminders of why he hated his family so damn much flashing through his mind at her words. They were psychotic, the lot of them. Bellatrix, his mother, his father, his brother… Family dinners full of this sort of insanity had taken up so much of his life before he ran away, before the Potters took him in…

The Potters, who were dead now…

And here Bellatrix was, alive and cheerfully telling him about how she'd murdered her supposed ally's mother. It would be like if Sirius had killed Frank's mother. Or even Snape's, for that matter. As if he would ever kill _anyone's_ mother. It was insane.

 _She_ was insane, and Sirius was utterly at her mercy – which was nonexistent, of course. She was going to disable him (he doubted it would be anything as mild as a Stunning Spell), bind him, and then drag him along with her as she rescued the rest of her murdering friends, before bringing him to Voldemort to be interrogated. Sirius had no way of defending himself, no hope of rescue, no chance of escape.

Still, it went against the grain not to fight back.

He was ready for her next curse. He saw the smile twist her lips, saw the gleam in her eye as she watched her supposedly helpless prey. Pointing her wand at him playfully, she said again, " _Crucio!"_

In a flash, he was a dog, dodging away from her spell into the darker corners of the cell.

Her astonishment sent a thrill of savage triumph raging through him.

"An Animagus!" she hissed. "I had almost forgotten… Poor little Peter did tell us…"

Sirius growled.

Bellatrix's expression, on the other hand, turned to one of cruel delight. "But this will make everything so much more _fun!_ "

Sirius was dodging again before the next spell left her wand, barking in panic and also in spite as she missed again – and again – and again. Sirius might have been huge, confined to a small cell, but he was _fast._

He was also tired, hungry, and weak.

She got him on the fifth try, and he went down in a yelping heap, kicking out frantically as the pain devastated his limbs. When she lifted the spell, he was too shaken to move fast enough, and the next curse hit him as well.

Bellatrix's laughter flooded over him as he came back to himself, and in a fury he dodged away again, snarling.

"Poor wittle puppy!" she mocked. "Did that hurt?"

Sirius growled at her, dodging again and yelping as her curse – not the Cruciatus this time – tore open a gash on his leg. Then it was the Cruciatus again, then more laughter.

Sirius wondered if she had forgotten about her mission to rescue the other Death Eaters. Maybe the prospect of torturing him here in this cell when he had nowhere to go was just too much fun for her to resist.

Behind her, the Dementors began to shift, and Sirius eyed them nervously, though in his canine form he couldn't feel their effects as strongly as he had a few minutes ago. Bellatrix didn't seem to notice their movement, nor did she seem to realize that someone was creeping toward her out of the shadows.

Sirius dodged her next spell, and watched as in a flash of light she crumpled.

He became a man again at once, lunging forward, ready to thank –

Regulus?

Sirius drew back, alarmed.

His brother stared at him for a long moment, gaze sweeping over his bloody, filthy robes, the bleeding wound on his leg, the unruly stubble on his face. Then he said in a flat voice, "Unlock the cell."

Sirius stared at him, taking in his pallor, the slight shivers shaking his frame. Regulus had no Patronus; of course not, he was a Death Eater. And the Dementors, though perhaps puzzled by Bellatrix's suddenly inert form, glided forward to obey, only to stop as the hummingbird once more darted at their outstretched hands.

"Give me the key, then," Regulus commanded.

What was he doing? Sirius watched in nervousness and, entirely unwillingly, hope, as Regulus took the key from the Dementors' scabby hand and slid it through the bright Patronus and into the lock.

Sirius wasn't sure whether to rush forward or backward as the door swung open.

"Come with me," Regulus said, his voice still unnaturally flat. Sirius thought he must be Occluding – how else could he stand to be so near the Dementors? But he was mad if he thought Sirius was just going to –

"Don't be a fool," Regulus said. " _Come._ "

Sirius glanced from his brother to the witch lying unconscious on the floor. What was this? Was Regulus _rescuing_ him? Or just letting him go? Or was it a trick? Some Death Eater rivalry to earn Regulus Voldemort's reward in Bellatrix's place? He didn't want to believe his brother was capable of that, but he had known for years now that Regulus wasn't the person Sirius had hoped he would become.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked hoarsely.

Regulus stared at him like he was an idiot, and for a moment his flat façade faltered in favor of absolute haughtiness and disdain. "Would you rather stay here all night, brother?"

Reluctantly, distrustfully, Sirius stepped forward, still not daring to allow himself to hope that this was what he desperately wanted it to be. This was, after all, his brother, the Death Eater. His brother, who was obsessed with blood purity and even more obsessed with his worthless hero, his precious Dark Lord, savior of the Wizarding race. His brother, who along with the rest of his family had disowned Sirius when he ran away, who had refused to even look at him in Hogwarts during his sixth and seventh years, who had not spoken a word to him since his so-called "betrayal of the family."

It was impossible that this was what it looked like. And yet…

"Hurry," Regulus said, glancing behind himself back down the corridor. Sirius could hear cries from deeper in the prison, along with something that sounded like dueling.

Sirius stepped out into the corridor, still watching Regulus with wary eyes.

"Take her wand," Regulus said impatiently.

Expecting a trick at any moment, expecting another Cruciatus Curse – yes, even from his own brother – Sirius nonetheless could not resist the chance, however small, that he could have a wand in his hand again.

He picked up Bellatrix's wand and backed away from Regulus. The hummingbird Patronus moved with him, a tiny shield between him and the Dementors all around them.

Regulus pointed his wand at Bellatrix's unconscious head. " _Obliviate!_ "

"Not really necessary," Sirius whispered. "She didn't see you."

Regulus shrugged, an expression of fear momentarily overtaking his flat demeanor. Around him, the Dementors turned their heads curiously, hungrily.

"Let's go," Regulus said, a definite note of urgency in his voice now.

"Reg–"

" _Now,_ Sirius!" Regulus snapped.

The Dementors were perhaps beginning to sense that something was wrong, that Regulus was not obeying orders, that he was depriving them of a prize. They slid closer, reaching out, and Regulus jerked away from them, raising his voice in both fear and anger. "Stay away!"

The Dementors hesitated, then ignored him, gliding closer, their fingers beginning to grasp at his robes. He gasped in fright, and Sirius, not giving it another moment's thought, reached out and yanked his brother toward him, behind the tiny hummingbird.

The Dementors towered over them on every side.

Sirius gripped Bellatrix's wand tighter. It felt _wrong_ in his hand, evil and twisted, and reminded him distinctly of his mother. Scowling, he wrenched Regulus's wand out of his hand, ignoring his brother's startled, " _Hey!"_ and rasped out, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

Regulus's wand was a far cry better than Bellatrix's, but it was still wrong, and the Patronus was no more than a wisp of white that cowered and vanished into the dark air. Or maybe it wasn't the wand – maybe it was this place, and the memories Sirius still fought of Remus, dead and helpless, his corpse violated, twitching and burning –

Sirius shut his eyes, tried to force the memories down, tried to think of Remus alive, lecturing them about morals, Remus laughing at his jokes, Remus painfully grateful when they transformed for him, so grateful he was in tears. Sirius felt tears sting his own eyes, but he forced the aching feeling down, through his wand arm and into his brother's wand.

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_ he tried again.

A wild silver shape burst out of his wand, lunging forward not with the bristling force he was used to, but with a savage grace – because it was not a dog, but a wolf.

"Moony," Sirius murmured.

Regulus watched the Dementors scatter, then snatched his wand back from Sirius. "Let's _go!_ " he said.

The wolf turned and followed them, baring its teeth at every Dementor in their path, and Sirius felt tears run freely down his face, because Moony was running with him again.


	56. Chapter 56

56

Azkaban was a maze. Even Frank, who had examined Moody's schematics and tried to memorize the general layout of the place, was lost. Dark tunnels, walls glazed with ice, moaning voices that echoed eerily, wind that howled and hissed like wraiths in every shadow… and Dementors. Everywhere, Dementors.

Alice _hated_ Dementors.

Frank's crane Patronus was a constant, reassuring presence, but it was also a target. Crouch, Jr. had been chasing them for the past ten minutes, firing off curses that more than once had struck prisoners in the cells instead of them while they (perhaps too cautiously) had fired back. There were other Death Eaters on the loose, too, wandless, admittedly, but Crouch (or whoever had freed them) must have Conjured them weapons, because one of them had swung a bloody _sword_ at Frank and only Alice's quick Transfiguration had saved him from decapitation.

They were panting their way up a steeply spiraling stairway now, slipping on the rocks and swearing as their fingers were sliced open by the rough stone. The crane was above them, forcing the Dementors up and away, while below them Crouch followed close behind, fighting viciously. He had already cast the Killing Curse twice. Alice was pretty sure the way back down this stairway was blocked – the second Killing Curse had ricocheted off the walls and brought down half the ceiling.

So they were trapped now, with Crouch behind and Dementors ahead, unless they could find some other way down from this stairway. Yet the stairs kept leading up and up, never opening onto any corridor, although cells had been gouged out of the stone on either side. Prisoners pressed their faces to the bars to watch the Patronus fly by, then jerked back as curses blazed past in lethal bursts of light. Alice and Frank had no time to look at them, no time to check if these perhaps-innocent, perhaps-not people were surviving Crouch's indiscriminate cursing.

 _Merlin,_ but he was fast.

And Alice thought it was probably her fault he was following them – he had figured out the hummingbird Patronuses were hers, and he was trying to extinguish them once and for all.

She probably shouldn't have used a flock of them to herd the Dementors right toward him.

She also probably shouldn't have locked him in an empty cell with a Patronus guarding the keyhole against the Dementors who might have rescued him.

It was _possible_ that had angered him, just a little bit.

Of course, the Dementors had simply handed the key through the bars to Crouch, who had unlocked the door himself. By then Frank and Alice had been dashing away, but it hadn't taken Crouch long to catch up, and now…

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " he snarled again, and Alice dodged as green light flashed overhead.

She had mocked him the first couple of times he'd missed her, but she was so out of breath from running now that all she could do was grin.

Aiming a Tripping Jinx back at him, she watched as he dodged out of the way, slipped on the icy stone, and fell hard. A laugh tore out of her even as Frank sent a Body-Bind Curse hurtling toward him, but Crouch had recovered fast, and blocked the spell, which ricocheted off into some poor (or evil) man's cell, paralyzing him instantly.

Neither Crouch nor the Longbottoms said anything. They were all beyond speaking now, beyond trading barbs and swear words. They were all gasping for air, all gritting their teeth against pain (Frank and Alice had gotten more than a few scratches when Crouch had brought the ceiling down, and Crouch had, after all, just fallen on his face), and all grimly determined to win, to survive, to escape.

Overhead, the howling wind grew louder, and Alice felt a blast of cold, sea-scented air gusting down the stairway. Above her, the Patronus's brilliant light was suddenly less close, less confined, as if the crane had burst into open air, leaving the stone stairway more shadowed than it had been before.

Crouch instantly took advantage of the darkness, waving his wand at her without a word.

Alice dodged to the side, not trusting a Shield Charm to block some unknown Dark spell, and the stairs above her exploded as the curse struck them. Crouch was already casting another spell, but Alice fired back, a nice strong Blasting Hex that took out the wall next to Crouch.

Crouch saw too late that two of the bars of the cell beside him had been blown apart. Filthy hands shot out from the darkness, grabbing him, grappling for his wand. Crouch let out a grunting cry and kicked out wildly as he was half-dragged into the gap Alice's hex had made in the cell's bars, and, not stopping to see if Crouch escaped, she hurried up the stairs, Frank just ahead of her. She could see his Patronus out in the open air, no longer surrounded by walls, and only a moment later she burst out onto what seemed to be a jagged, terrifyingly sloped roof.

Lights flashed everywhere, spells bursting into the night from a battle on broomstick up above. Alice teetered on the uneven rooftop, trying to catch her balance and figure out what the hell was going on, though she cast an occasional nervous glance back through the hole they had climbed out of, wary that Crouch was still behind them.

To her left, half a dozen brooms or so were lying on the roof's slanting stone surface, as if waiting to be mounted. Up in the air, ragged figures were dodging in and out of light cast by – Alice's heart leapt – _Aurors._ There was no mistaking those robes, definitely no mistaking Savage's giant form. And they weren't alone – Alice thought she saw Arthur Weasley fly past in the purple flash of light from an Auror's wand. So the Order was here, too.

As far as she could tell, the ragged figures dodging their spells were the Death Eaters who had been imprisoned. None of them had wands, and several had already plummeted to the rooftop and were clinging desperately to the steeply slanted slope of jagged stone. Others were trying to fly away, weaving back and forth to avoid the spells of their pursuers, who in turn were weaving back and forth to avoid the Dementors that were rising up to the rooftop from all around. The light of Patronuses glowed eerily against the fog all around them, unevenly illuminating the scene and throwing the Dementors' silhouettes into dark relief. The sight was both chilling and inexplicably thrilling.

"There!" Frank said, pointing.

Alice followed the line of his finger and saw another opening on the opposite side of the rooftop, not unlike the hole they had just climbed out of. A pale face, surrounded by pale hair, poked out of the hole, took in the battle above, and turned to disappear back down into darkness.

"Malfoy," Alice said, eyes narrowing.

"There are others," Frank said, pointing again, and Alice saw then what he had: that the whole of the slanting rooftop was broken by these holes, presumably where stairways like the one they had just climbed reached the top of the fortress. Here and there, pale faces gazed out, took in the battle, and turned tail like Malfoy had. In other places, Aurors and Order members were landing their brooms and descending into the fortress. Patronuses flitted through the air, some guarding the fighters above, some disappearing through the holes after Order member and Death Eater alike.

"Let's go," Alice said, and she and Frank darted carefully across the slanting roof, grabbing hold of the brooms that had no doubt been left for the escaping Death Eaters, and taking flight.

* * *

Breathing hard, Barty Crouch, Jr. wrenched himself away from the now-limp form of the prisoner who had attacked him. The man's face was unrecognizable, just as pale and hairy and skeletal as every other prisoner in this miserable place, although with the distinction of being covered in blood. He was dead; something for little Alice Longbottom to be proud of. Barty sneered, gripping his robes and wrenching them back into place as he started up the stairs again, slowly now, wary.

He could hear the howling of wind above, and beyond that sounds of what might have been battle. He wanted to find the Longbottoms again, especially _her,_ and finish them, but he was at a considerable disadvantage now; they must have had two minutes at least to get up here, to what he knew was the rooftop, and they could have set any number of traps for him along the way.

But no. No traps. Of course not, they weren't Slytherins like him. Barty Conjured a mirror and tilted it up so he could see the rooftop, though in the flash of lights against the Dementors' fog it was momentarily difficult to make out anything. But, after a few moments' observation, Barty could see how it was: the Death Eaters were losing, the Order of the Phoenix and what looked like the entire Auror force were here, ruining any chance that the Dark Lord's servants might escape. Barty could see the Longbottoms up in the air, Frank accompanied by his crane Patronus, Alice with a little entourage of those miserable hummingbirds. Barty scowled at them, measured his chances, considered what his master would wish him to do.

Help the others escape – that had always been the first mission. The Dark Lord had his own business in Azkaban tonight, but Barty, Bellatrix, and Regulus had been given clear instructions to free all of the Dark Lord's captured servants. Rookwood, the Lestranges, the Malfoys… Barty could see none of them in the air above. So not all of the Death Eaters had made it to the roof.

Barty could not go back the way he had come; his errant Killing Curse had seen to that. Gritting his teeth, he slipped out of the stairwell, racing in a controlled slide down the slope of the roof toward the next nearest stairway. He reached the hole just as someone else tried to climb out of it – but it was not a Death Eater.

It was his father.

For a moment, they stared at each other in stunned silence. Barty had not known the Aurors had brought his father here, to Azkaban. He had read about his arrest, his mental break, his removal from office. He had not dreamed that the Ministry would actually be audacious enough to imprison one of its senior officials.

But it was clear his father _was_ a prisoner, or had been until a few moments ago. His robes were ragged and filthy, his face pale and gaunt and, most shocking of all, unshaven. His eyes were hollow and haunted, but at the sight of Barty they sharpened immediately, and fury seemed to blaze in their depths.

Barty raised his wand at the same moment his father raised his fist, but even as his father's knuckles struck him hard across the face, Barty was casting a curse against which his father had no defense.

" _Imperio._ "

His father's fist dropped away, his eyes suddenly blank and unfeeling. Barty rubbed his jaw where his father had hit him, then hastily, silently compelled his father to climb back down the stairs, out of sight of the Aurors above. With a last hateful glance at the sky, Barty followed.

* * *

Bellatrix awoke to the feeling of cold, inhuman hands clutching her body, and threw herself backward with a hissing shriek. It was too dark to see anything, but she _knew_ what she was feeling. Dementors were all around her, bending over her, feeding on her emotions.

Had they been touching her to help her, or to harm her? And why was she there? This was Azkaban, she knew that at once, but _why…?_

Had she struck her head? No. She could feel the haze of an ineptly cast Memory Charm at the edges of her mind. Someone had Obliviated her.

Fury and panic filled her – fury that anyone would _dare_ harm her, would _dare_ touch her, panic that she did not have her wand. It was not in her hand or at her belt, not in her corset or her boot. It was not on the stone floor around her, as her fumbling fingers quickly established. It was gone. Someone had left her wandless and Obliviated on the floor of Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors.

She gazed up at them defiantly, summoning the cold certainty she had in her master's power. They drew back, and she detected hints of curiosity, of hunger, of wariness, but also of mocking amusement.

She bared her teeth at them. "Who did this?" she bit out.

Impressions filled her, indefinite, irritatingly nonverbal, and though she didn't have the patience for such things, she forced herself to accept the information.

She felt a sense of something she associated with family, a sense of treachery, a sense of grief and loss, a sense of light where there should have been darkness.

Useless. She had no idea who they meant or why she would be here.

Reaching out behind her for something to steady her as she stood up, she found instead the bars of an open cell door, swinging creakily at her touch. She frowned.

She could think of only one reason why she would be in Azkaban. She knew she had not been captured or imprisoned; she was _certain_ of it, on a level deeper than the Memory Charm. So she must have been here on her master's orders, to free his servants – and the empty cell beside her suggested she had, at least in part, succeeded. Yet someone had attempted to stop her, or to disable her. But why? An Order member or an Auror would not have Obliviated her. They would have killed or imprisoned her.

Obliviation suggested deception. It suggested the treachery she had felt in the Dementors' minds.

Treachery from whom? There were very few options. Was it Barty Crouch or Regulus Black?

Crouch, she concluded immediately. It had to have been Crouch. She had killed his mother – that must have been the sense of family the Dementors had shown her – and the grief and loss must be his incomprehensible feelings on the matter. He should have been loyal to the Dark Lord, but instead he was loyal to his mother, the light – if that frail, useless little woman could be considered _light._

It was Crouch. Bellatrix knew it. He had done something to her, deprived her of her wand and her memory, left her here to be Kissed or caught. Her mouth spread in a feral grin. He would pay for that, little Barty would. Oh, she would enjoy making him pay.

* * *

Barty had found Rookwood and Malfoy, both of whom were still clutching the swords he had Conjured them earlier that night when he had first released them from their cells and commanded them to head for the roof. Malfoy, predictably, complained about the plan failing, but as soon as Barty pointed out that it was the Dark Lord's plan, Malfoy shut right up. Rookwood had not said anything; his eyes were on the Dementors, always on the Dementors, and Barty could see he was struggling even more than Malfoy was to Occlude against them.

It was both pathetic and infuriating that every time they passed by one of Alice Longbottom's shiny little Patronuses both Malfoy and Rookwood would gaze at it with absolute longing.

Barty ignored them, and ignored the Dementors, who were, in any case, no threat to servants of the Dark Lord. Barty had already passed half a dozen cells in which Kissed prisoners lay slumped and hollow on the floor, and he suspected there were many others all throughout Azkaban – the first of many benefits this arrangement would provide the Dementors, now that the Dark Lord had freed them from the Ministry's yoke.

Barty was more concerned with his father, who had already begun to resist the Imperius Curse, and who had begun muttering to himself wildly, something about Barty's mother (that made Barty seethe), about Barty himself (that rather amused him), and about Alastor Moody's betrayal. He seemed particularly fixated on that. Moody had tricked him, he whispered over and over, Moody was a traitor, Moody was a Death Eater – his mutterings only became more and more absurd.

Perhaps it was because Barty was so focused on his father that he didn't notice Bellatrix Lestrange lunging at him from the shadows until her hideous shriek split the air right beside his ear.

He turned to ward her off, only to fall backward as she slammed into him and dug her nails into his face.

"What – Bella –"

"TRAITOR!" she shrieked, still clawing at him, trying to wrest his wand from his grip.

" _Depulso!"_ he gasped, and she flew backward, clanging hard into the bars of a locked cell and dropping to the floor. Hands reached out of the cells to grab her, and she lunged away, looking now at Malfoy and Rookwood.

"He's a traitor! KILL HIM!"

Malfoy and Rookwood looked at her like she was mad – which she obviously was.

"I'm not a traitor," Barty said coldly, watching her as she hissed and shuddered with fury. It was then that he saw she did not have a wand, and he couldn't suppress a cool smile. "Did someone clip your claws, Bella?"

She seemed incapable of generating a coherent noise. For several seconds she merely hissed and bared her teeth at him. "You will _pay_ for this!" she screamed finally.

"And a _tantrum,_ how intimidating," Barty said, both impatient with her and wondering what had happened to set her off.

"You murdered her," his father whispered suddenly. Barty felt the push against the Imperius Curse, felt his father's resistance strengthen. Barty glanced at him and found his tortured eyes fixed on Bellatrix. "You murdered her."

Bellatrix did not seem to have noticed Barty's father before, but she did now, and her face twisted in alarm and surprise and contempt. "Oh, are you freeing _daddy,_ little Barty?"

"Freeing?" Barty echoed. "No, Bellatrix. I'm not freeing my father… no more than you were freeing your cousin." He looked around. "Where is he, incidentally?"

"Cousin?" she asked, seemingly wrong-footed. "What do you mean, cousin?"

Barty stared at her. "Your cousin… Sirius Black?" What was wrong with her?

"What does Black have to do with anything?" Bellatrix snapped.

Barty arched his brows. "You were torturing him when I left you. You intended to bring him to the Dark Lord as a gift…"

Bellatrix stared at him, confusion and distrust all over her face, and he had a sudden, surprising thought. "Bella… Have you been Obliviated?"

She bared her teeth at him, but said nothing, which was more than answer enough.

"You killed her," his father whispered again, more hatefully than before. "You killed her!"

Barty tightened his hold on the curse, impatient with his father, with Bella, with the whole situation. He could hear the distant sounds of duels echoing from other parts of the fortress, he knew he was failing his lord with each Death Eater he failed to save, and here was Bellatrix, losing her mind for Merlin-knew-what reason…

"Bellatrix, there's no time for this," Barty said impatiently. "The Dark Lord will restore your memories, and then –"

"I know it was you!" she screamed.

" _What_ was me?"

"You Obliviated me! You stole my wand! You left me to be Kissed!"

"Don't be a fool," Barty said, his tone hard. "If Black got the best of you –"

"He didn't!" she shrieked. "It was you, I know it was you!"

"We have to _go,"_ Rookwood said, gazing at the Dementors flitting in and out of sight down the corridor.

"Not before we find my _wife,_ " Malfoy replied.

"You _killed_ her," Barty's father hissed.

And then, perhaps worst of all –

" _There!_ " A shout broke the air from down the corridor, and Barty looked over to see two Aurors bounding down the corridor toward them, a fox Patronus leaping ahead.

" _Avada –"_ one of them began, only to have the other yell, "Stop! That's Crouch! And his son! _Stupe-_ "

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Barty snapped out, and the Auror who had recognized his father dropped dead. The fox Patronus vanished.

"You _scum –"_ the other Auror snarled, only to fall back, suddenly begging, "No, no – don't – I'm an Auror, you _can't –_ stop, _please –"_

For a moment, all animosity and madness among the Death Eaters was forgotten, and they watched in shared horror as a Dementor tilted back the Auror's head, bent over him, and Kissed him.

Barty could have sworn he _felt_ the soul leave the man's body. One moment, the forceful little presence burned agonizingly through his senses. The next, it was shrouded in darkness, swallowed into a void.

Gone.

Beside him, Rookwood half-fell to the floor, his knees visibly trembling. Malfoy, a few steps farther away, had covered his face, but was still watching through the gap between his fingers as he shuddered. And Bellatrix…

Bellatrix was lunging forward, making a dive for the wretched Auror's wand. Immediately, Barty thought, _Accio wands!_ Both of the Auror's wands flew through the air, just out of Bella's reach, and settled in his hand.

"Sorry, Bella," Barty said, as she let out a cry of rage. "Lucius, Augustus…"

He tossed the wands their way. Rookwood grasped his like it was a lifeline. Malfoy fumbled his, dropping his sword, but managed to grab the wand before Bella could reach it.

"Give it to me!" she demanded. "I am your wife's sister, Lucius! Your family –"

Lucius gripped the wand possessively and shied away from her.

"He's a traitor!" Bella screamed again. Before anyone could react, she grabbed Lucius's fallen sword and lunged at Barty.

The attack caught him off guard. He dodged to the side, felt the blade slice through his arm, and aimed his wand at her face. " _Obliviatus reverso!"_

He had never cast a Memory Modification Reversal Charm before, but the risk of brain damage wasn't particularly concerning to him in that moment. Bellatrix stumbled, gasped, clutched her head (dropping the sword in the process, which Barty promptly Vanished), and groaned, "Ahh – no –"

There was no time to concern himself with her. Another group of figures had appeared down the corridor, illuminated by Patronuses – not Death Eaters, then. He fired without a second thought, a Killing Curse that struck one of them full in the face. He heard a woman scream, heard a man shout, " _No!_ " Then one of the figures lurched forward, casting curses wildly, and Barty heard an odd _thunk_ with every other step the figure took. Did he have a wooden leg?

It didn't matter. Barty parried his spells, balking slightly at the force behind them, gritting his teeth and yelling, "Don't just stand there!" at the fool Death Eaters he was supposed to be rescuing.

They joined in reluctantly, their movements rusty, their spells weak. And Barty's own spells were weaker than usual, with half his magic and mind focused on maintaining the Imperius Curse, the curse his father kept fighting and fighting –

"TRAITOR!" This time it was not Bellatrix who screamed, but Barty's father. "You traitor!"

Barty wanted to laugh. He had recognized the one-legged wizard dueling with him, and it was Moody – Moody, who his father seemingly believed was a traitor, even now as Moody dueled Barty and the other Death Eaters single-handedly.

Barty stepped aside to dodge one of the Auror's spells, and his father staggered past him, arms outstretched in some half-conscious bid for vengeance. Moody seemed to recognize him, and faltered. _Perfect._

Barty's next curse hit the Auror full in the face, just as Malfoy's curse hit his arm. Moody toppled backward with a pained cry, and one of the Patronuses, an eagle of some kind, flickered wildly in and out of shape.

A witch, probably the woman who had screamed, was standing stock still, her puppyish Patronus trembling in front of her. She was more focused on the Dementors than on the Death Eaters, and it was her undoing. Even as Barty was considering which spell he'd like to cast, Rookwood took her down with a simple Killing Curse.

The puppy vanished. Moody's Patronus still clung to its eagle form, barely, but there was blood on the floor beside the Auror's head and Barty didn't think he'd last long.

Malfoy was pointing his wand at the Auror's fallen form, but his eyes were fixed on the Patronus, and Barty could see the fool didn't want to lose the warm illusion of safety it provided. With a sneer, he stepped forward. " _Avada –_ "

Something sliced through him from behind, carving his back in half, so it seemed. Barty dropped, gasping and gritting his teeth against sudden agony. He could suddenly hear his heart beating in his ears, could feel blood seeping into the back of his robes, sickeningly warm, then even more sickeningly cool as the Dementors' cold struck his bare wound.

" _Snape!_ " Bellatrix shrieked.

As if from a distance, Barty heard a flurry of spells, saw flashing lights and flying chunks of rock and clouds of dust. Then someone was hauling him up into the air, and he was floating along, barely breathing, blood sliding in cold rivulets across his skin.

* * *

Bellatrix's memory had returned, hazy in some moments, painfully vivid in others. She could remember the sharp joy of torturing her blood traitor cousin, but could only vaguely recall Barty chiding her, judging her, leaving her. Had he really left? She didn't know. The Memory Modification Reversal Charm had raised more questions than it had answered, and Bella was doubting herself now, doubting whether Crouch was or was not the one who had Obliviated her, and her doubt made her furious.

But there was no time for it now. She had glimpsed Snape in the moments after Barty had fallen, his back nearly torn in half, his wand fallen conveniently at her feet, but the traitor had vanished into the shadows, and as Moody's Patronus flickered out, the corridor was left in darkness.

The duel that followed was blind and intense, and Bella had no idea if she had struck Snape or if the cries she heard were those of prisoners trapped behind bars, caught in the crossfire. She didn't care. She was still whole, unharmed, and Rookwood and Malfoy seemed to finally be making themselves useful. Rookwood levitated Barty, Malfoy took over Crouch, Sr.'s Imperius Curse, and Bella found herself covering their retreat as they made their halting way down the corridor away from their enemy. Moody's body, dead or alive, nearly tripped Malfoy, but Bella side-stepped it neatly and dodged one of Snape's spells in the process.

At least, she _thought_ it was still Snape firing those spells at her. She couldn't see him, and the corridor was strangely silent, except for the occasional crack of spell against stone (or prisoner).

They made it to the corridor's corner, and, dodging around it, broke into a run, Rookwood leading the way with Barty, Malfoy, and Crouch's stumbling figure racing after. Bellatrix could see them better now. A pair of those infuriating hummingbird Patronuses were flitting down the corridor around them, past them, and toward the wizard they were dueling.

Bella, glancing backward, saw the small flashes of silver light illuminate him, and felt a chill she had only rarely felt before.

She had been mistaken; it was not Snape behind them. It was that older man, the lookalike she had dueled in Godric's Hollow. But he was not running after them. He was _gliding_ – gliding through the air like a Dementor, his black robes billowing, his expression empty yet fierce in its expressionlessness. Dark eyes glinted out of his sallow face, and the Dementors fell back before them.

It was that, more than anything, that made Bella's skin crawl. The Dementors were sweeping backward, back into the shadows, as if he were one of them, or even their master.

"No!" she screamed. "The Dark Lord is your master! Stop him! _Kiss him!_ "

The Dementors didn't even seem to hear her. The man who was not Snape remained expressionless, but she could _feel_ the hostile mockery within him, or perhaps see it in those eyes.

He raised his wand and swept it downward in a graceful arc, and Bellatrix dodged, cursing him both verbally and magically before darting away from him down the hall, hating him for unnerving her, already devising some revenge.

He was _not_ invincible. She knew that. She had wounded him in Godric's Hollow. She could do it again. She _would_ do it again. She would kill him.

Ahead of her, Rookwood and Lucius had dodged into a stairwell leading downward, forcing the two Crouches ahead of them as they raced down the steps. Bella didn't follow; the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a narrow, spiraling space with her enemy on the higher ground. Dashing away from the stairs, she blasted apart cell doors to either side, laughing as prisoners staggered out, blocking the dark-eyed wizard's path.

Darting, almost dancing down another corridor, Bella blasted open another cell door, watched the prisoner flee, and ducked inside.

In the shadows, she waited.

Seconds later, she heard footsteps, soft and barely audible, but still _footsteps._ She could see, from her place of concealment, that the wizard was on his feet again, and that his carefully controlled expression was tenser than a moment before. He was discomposed; the prisoners she had set loose had evidently distracted him. She could see that his Occlumency shields were strained, and it filled her with a savage sense of satisfaction.

She wondered what would happen if those shields fell entirely. Would the Dementors Kiss him then?

His footfalls were quiet, cautious. She saw his shadow fall across the floor of the cell she was hiding in, cast by the faint light of those hummingbird Patronuses. She briefly considered the idea that they might be _his_ Patronuses – but no. This cold, dangerous, dark man would have something fearsome and deadly, a serpent or some wild cat – or perhaps none at all. Perhaps he was like her, too dark to cast a spell so light.

From his shadow, she could see exactly where he was. Already summoning her intent for the spell in her mind, she darted out and hissed, " _Crucio!_ "

But even as she spoke, the wizard was rising upward, his robes whipping with the speed of his movement. From the ceiling, he fired down on her, once, twice, and Bella had to dodge back into the cell to escape his curses.

His dark form, hovering so eerily in the dark air, made her certain, for a moment, that he must be a vampire. " _Expecto Allium!_ " she cried, and cloves of garlic shot from her wand, bursting apart to spatter his robes and face.

He laughed, a dark, dangerous laugh that she instantly despised.

"I am not a vampire, Bella," he said, grinning down at her and licking a fleck of garlic off his lip. "You attacked Godric's Hollow in broad daylight, or did you forget?"

She had forgotten. When she thought of that day, she thought only of the dark night the Dark Lord had conjured to shield his Inferi army. Flushing, embarrassed and furious that he had made her so, she screamed, " _Crucio!_ "

But he was too fast. He could not Apparate, but he could _fly_ – she could see that clearly, that this was not some simple manipulation of the _Mobilicorpus_ spell as she had initially assumed. He was _flying_.

And she was trapped in the cell. She realized it as soon as he started firing spells at her again, when she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was a brilliant duelist – she prided herself on that – but she reminded herself disgustingly of Black now, trapped like a dog in a cage as she dodged back and forth, while her opponent flew steadily toward her.

What was worse, she hadn't landed a single curse on him – not one. He had seemed fast to her in Godric's Hollow, but now, with his feet not touching the ground, he wove through the air in a dark, nebulous dance that left her trembling with frustration and rage. He was _better_ than her. The thought was clawing its way closer and closer to the surface of her mind, despite her every effort to crush it. He was _better._

She was going to _lose._

Behind her, she felt the cold bite of wind through the barred window, and knew she might have only one escape. Dodging to the side, ostensibly aiming at him, she cast a vicious Blasting Hex that he deflected – exactly where she had hoped he would.

The stone beside the window exploded outward, the wind suddenly hissing against the raw, exposed rock. Bellatrix was desperate – he was between her and the opening – and she cast a spell she knew he couldn't block, a spell that could well kill them both.

 _Fiendfyre._

He flew backward in a bat-like twitch of robes, there one second, gone the next. A blaze of serpents and spiders followed him, ravenous and burning, smashing into the walls and ceiling, melting the bars of the cells into glowing streaks of light. Bella slashed out with her wand, driving the fire away from herself, but she could already feel it shrinking, confined and quenched by some power other than her own. For one furious moment, she tried to fight back. Then, realizing her folly, she threw herself toward the gap in the wall, ready to jump from the fortress to escape the fight she couldn't win.

And then, shockingly, she felt his _hands_ on her.

She shrieked, enraged beyond anything she had felt that night, even more than in the moment she had realized her wand was gone and her mind Obliviated.

How _dare_ he? It was unfathomable, vile, an indignity, his sheer _presumption –_

And then the hands were gone, and she was falling, hurtling through the icy air at terrifying speeds, Dementors and fog and the rocky sea blurring together in an ominous gray that froze altogether as she shrieked out her saving spell.

" _Arresto Momentum!_ "


	57. Chapter 57

57

Regulus hadn't meant to stay with Sirius. Then again, he hadn't meant for the Dementors to recognize his treachery, either. He could feel their dark eagerness surrounding him, their clear understanding that, having forsaken his master's side, he was now at their mercy. The only thing between him and the Kiss was Sirius's Patronus, and that meant staying with Sirius – who, in any case, was still holding _his_ wand.

It meant leaving the Dark Lord behind… for good.

Regulus had not intended for his impulsive act to result in this. Warning the Order of the Phoenix through the house-elf's coin had been only a mild risk. Breaking his brother out of Azkaban, leaving Bellatrix to die or worse – those had not been part of the plan, and Regulus was terrified of the consequences he might face.

And yet, seeing Sirius now, gaunt and haggard even after only a week or so in Azkaban, Regulus couldn't regret it. Even if it ended in his death.

"How do you get out of this bloody place?" Sirius muttered, looking this way and that like a dog sniffing the air.

"Down, from here," Regulus said. "There should be a stairway somewhere ahead."

There was, but it was blocked. It looked like half the ceiling had collapsed. Rubble and the bottom half of a man's body, partially buried beneath fallen stone, rendered the corridor and stairwell impassable.

"Prisoner," Sirius said, examining the dead man's legs and tattered robes by the light of his Patronus. "A Death Eater, maybe?"

"Or one of them," Regulus said, gesturing at the cells to either side, the bars of which had broken under the weight of the ceiling's collapse. "Could be anyone."

"Hopefully not one of ours," Sirius muttered.

Regulus knew, without Sirius saying it, that he himself was excluded from the _ours_ in question. He was not one of them, not an Order member, not a Gryffindor, not a good person, by Sirius's standards.

"Back the way we came, then?" Sirius said, looking grim and almost angry about it. Regulus wondered if he was hoping for another shot at Bellatrix.

"If we can find a window, we can summon some brooms," Regulus said.

"From where, Scotland?"

"From the roof." Regulus resisted the urge to roll his eyes – a habit his mother had always despised. "We brought a dozen or so for the Death Eaters to escape. That was the plan – free them, get them to the roof, fly away." He glanced at the collapsed stone in front of them, and remembered all the hummingbird Patronuses he had seen. "Something's gone wrong, though. There are probably still broomsticks left."

Sirius was eyeing him with supreme distaste and something like disbelief. "'That was the plan'?" he mocked. "Rescue your murdering friends and fly off into the sunrise?"

Regulus glared at him, considered telling him about the warning he had sent through the coin, but decided against it. His brother probably wouldn't believe him anyway. "I saved you, didn't I?"

"Yes, wonderful job," Sirius sneered, gesturing at the blocked passageway. "Such a comfort to know my baby Death Eater brother has lured me into the depths of Azkaban –"

"I'm not _luring_ you anywhere, you were in the lead –"

"– where his murdering _scum_ of friends can find us –"

"No one's finding us, there's hardly any of us left –"

"Of _us? Us?_ So you admit you're still one of them!"

"It was just habit, I didn't mean –"

"WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD BREAK THE HABIT!"

Regulus stared at Sirius, noting his panting breaths, his twisted expression, his snarling Patronus. He had seen his brother like this many times over the years (minus the Patronus), and it sent a nervous tremble through him, the same way it always had. Sirius was _so_ like Bellatrix sometimes.

"If you don't want Death Eaters to find us, shouting probably isn't the best idea," Regulus said, managing to keep his tone cold.

"Let them find us!" Sirius snapped. "I don't care!"

"You'll care when they're using the Cruciat-"

"I DON'T CARE!" Sirius roared. "THEY MURDERED REMUS! I'LL MURDER THEM!"

Remus – that was Sirius's friend, the prefect, the werewolf, the one who –

Wait a moment… "Is he your Patronus?" Regulus asked, taken aback.

Sirius snarled at him, turned away, and didn't answer. Regulus, taking that as a yes, looked at the Patronus more closely than he had before.

Yes, he could see it now. It wasn't an ordinary wolf. There were the little signs they had learned in Defense… the shorter snout, the tufted tail… the almost human eyes…

Regulus considered this information in some astonishment. He himself could not cast a Patronus, but he understood the theory – that it represented either some aspect of the caster himself, or of the person with whom the caster felt safest, or bravest, or whom the caster loved the most.

He tried to imagine feeling that way about any of _his_ friends, but couldn't. Then again, he didn't really have friends – not like Sirius had, friends he had often professed he would die for.

Still, if Sirius's Patronus had taken one of his friends' forms, surely it would have been Potter's? Wasn't he the best friend?

Was it just that Remus Lupin was dead?

"When did he die?" Regulus wondered.

It was evidently the wrong thing to say. Sirius rounded on him, teeth bared. "What, they didn't tell you? Or maybe Remus just wasn't important enough to mention in the death toll, is that it? Shouldn't you _know_ , anyway? Weren't you _there?_ "

He could only mean one thing. "The wedding?"

"Yes, the wedding!" Sirius almost growled. "The _slaughter!_ "

Regulus resisted the urge to take a step back. "I wasn't there. I was at Hogwarts."

"Well, good for you, you perfect little prefect!" Sirius snapped. "While you were sticking your nose in a Dark Arts book and strutting around school like you were better than everyone else, my friends were _massacred!_ "

Regulus, almost reflexively, became defensive. "Well, so were the Death Eat-"

Sirius grabbed him by the front of the robes and slammed him against the bars of a cell with such force that Regulus felt the wind knocked out of him. Above him, the Patronus flickered, in tune with Sirius's rage.

"How dare you?" he snarled. "How _dare_ you! They attacked _us!_ At a _wedding!_ They murdered innocents – old people, kids, it didn't matter, they killed _everyone!_ And you want me to feel sorry that we tried to defend ourselves?"

"That's not what I –"

"It's _exactly_ what you meant!" Sirius spat. "Poor little Death Eaters, their victims didn't lie down and take it! If only we would all surrender to the murdering, raping blood supremacists, they wouldn't have to kill us!"

"They're not rapi-"

"DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THE MARRIAGE LAW IS?"

"It's not –"

"RAPE!" Sirius bellowed. "It's RAPE, you twisted little freak! Why do you think I didn't participate? Why do you think I spent the last four months as a bloody dog? It's DISGUSTING! _You're_ disgusting! I HATE YOU!"

With each word, Sirius slammed Regulus against the bars. The Patronus was barely corporeal now, its silver teeth and tail mere blurs of light. The Dementors were drawing closer, and Regulus could feel their cold seeping through them, almost as powerful as the jolts of fear and shame Sirius's words sent surging through him.

"Sirius –"

"Just shut UP!" Sirius snapped, letting go of him and turning away again, his expression suddenly cold, his Patronus coming into focus again. "Let's just get out of here," his lip twisted, "so I don't have to keep looking at your _face_."

Regulus felt a terrible wash of shame and inadequacy and resentment, a feeling he knew well from his childhood. He had always been good enough for his mother, for his father, but for Sirius? No, never. He had always been the "twisted freak," always too ignorant, too obedient, too blind. He had been so determined to believe Sirius was wrong, but his brother's words left a sickening feeling in his gut.

He had never given much thought to the marriage law. He had fully expected his mother to make a match for him once she considered him old enough (as she had intended for Sirius, which had been the final straw, the fight that finally drove him to run away), and the marriage law had not seemed much different. Wizarding families – the oldest and the purest of them – had always accepted arranged marriage as a necessity, a way of life that ensured pure bloodlines would be preserved. In a world as small as theirs, it was highly unlikely that _love_ would motivate pureblood matches – there were, after all, so few options. Purity came first; purity, and the power that could be gained from alliances. Why shouldn't the rest of Wizarding Britain follow suit?

What Sirius was suggesting was – terrible. He had never considered it in those terms at all. He himself had never expected marriage to be any particular source of pleasure. Of pride, yes, but pleasure would have been an unexpected surprise, a benefit that he did not consider necessary.

But here Sirius was, selfishly, as their mother would have said, insisting that personal desires should overrule the importance of blood – of perpetuating their dwindling kind. Indeed, that an arranged marriage might be as horrific as… well, as some Muggle scum getting his hands on a young witch, as had happened so often during the Burning Times.

Duty came first, for Regulus. There might be inconvenience in it, there might even be pain, but there was no horror to it. It was what it was.

Sirius's perspective was… perplexing.

Did other people feel this way? The rest of the Order, Dumbledore's followers, the unpatriotic traitors who had fled the country rather than be married sooner than their selfishness demanded? Was that really what they thought of the law, of the Death Eaters behind it – that they were arranging some kind of mass _rape?_

It was absurd. Marriage was the duty of every witch and wizard; producing children was their responsibility, was an absolute necessity for the survival of their kind. Muggles had killed too many of them, and too many others had died out, childless, either through infertility or selfish choice. Wizards were _dying,_ as a people. A few hundred years more like this and wizards would be all but extinct.

Of _course_ a marriage law had to be instituted. It had been done before, several times, in an effort to salvage their population. The previous laws had been largely ineffective – either because too many had fled the country, or because the law had been revoked before it had time to produce real results. But the purpose _was_ legitimate. They needed to reproduce. This was no time for selfish squeamishness, for the sort of individualist independence Sirius had always pursued.

And yet… _rape?_

Was that really what he thought?

Sirius was walking away from him, the werewolf Patronus gliding after him in graceful, loping style. Regulus followed, still shaken from his brother's rage, still confused by his brother's incomprehensible perspective.

"It's not rape," he finally ventured.

Sirius gave him a dirty look. "No? You don't think shagging someone you don't want to shag is rape?"

"We're _dying out,_ " Regulus said. "It's our responsibility –"

"Don't give me that shite," Sirius snapped. "That's just what Mum would have said."

"Maybe she's _right,_ Sirius. We're _dying._ "

Sirius rolled his eyes. His careless attitude incensed Regulus.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but Muggles have taken over the world! There's barely any of us left! We used to _mean_ something –"

"– we used to rule, we used to shape human destiny – yeah, thanks, I've heard it all before, remember? Why are you lot always so obsessed with ruling the world?"

"Because it's our _right,_ " Regulus said fiercely.

"Your right to murder people, to force them to do things they don't want to do –"

"It's just _marriage,_ Sirius, it's not an _atrocity –_ "

"It _is!_ You're too young –"

"I'm of age!"

"You're a stupid virgin who doesn't know what he's saying!"

"I know it's my _duty –_ "

"You don't have any blood duty!" Sirius yelled. "You don't _belong_ to anyone, not to Mum, not to Voldemort, not to bloody _society!_ "

Regulus flinched as his Mark twinged at the use of Voldemort's name. Nervously, he looked around the corridor, empty except for a few Dementors that were resentfully eyeing Sirius's Patronus from a safe distance.

"Don't say his name," Regulus said.

"VOLDE-"

" _Don't!_ " Regulus snapped. "He can _feel_ it! Do you want him to find us?"

That brought Sirius up short. "What d'you mean, he can _feel_ it?"

Regulus was suddenly hesitant to answer. The Mark on his arm had always been a source of pride for him – well, until the past few days – but he knew exactly how Sirius would react.

"He just does," he muttered.

Sirius was staring at him. "It's the Mark, isn't it?" he asked, looking disturbed. "Let me see it."

"No," Regulus said, jerking away, but his brother had already grabbed his arm and shoved the sleeve up.

Sirius's expression was one of supreme distaste. "Ugly."

"It wasn't supposed to be _pretty,_ " Regulus said, yanking his arm back.

"So now he can eavesdrop on you?"

"No," Regulus said. "He just knows when someone says his name."

Sirius snorted, as if he thought it unlikely that was all the Mark did. Regulus couldn't entirely blame him; he seriously doubted whether his own understanding of the Mark was complete.

Sirius started walking again, and they were both silent, though Regulus was embarrassed and seething after Sirius's reaction to the Mark.

Without looking at him, Sirius said, "Anyway, you missed my point."

"About what?"

"That you don't belong to anyone."

Regulus shot him a contemptuous look. "That's the way children look at things."

"No," Sirius countered, an unkind smile twisting his lips. "Quite the opposite, little brother. When you're little, you want to please everyone, obey everyone, let everyone else make decisions for you. Being a man means _you_ are your master – your _only_ master. Enslaving yourself to psychotic maniacs like Lord V and our dear mum doesn't make you a man. Doing _anything_ because someone _else_ thinks it's right doesn't make you a man. You're a _child,_ Regulus."

"Or," Regulus said, offended, "maybe it shows a sense of _responsibility,_ to understand that _you_ and your _selfish_ desires aren't the only things that matter."

"Of course they're not the only things that matter!" Sirius snapped. "D'you think I joined the Order of the Phoenix because I thought it would be fun?"

"Yes," Regulus answered promptly, and perhaps a little spitefully.

Sirius snorted again. "Sure, yeah, we thought it'd be an adventure, but it _matters,_ you dolt. Protecting innocent people, saving the world –"

"That's what _we_ are trying to do!"

Sirius gave him an incredulous look.

"Maybe not in the short term –"

"Oh, in the short term you'll slaughter innocents, but once you've slaughtered everyone who fights back, you'll just sit back in benevolent mercy, is that it? Merlin, Regulus, when did you get so stupid? Volde- _scum_ likes killing! He _loves_ it! It's the only thing he loves! He's not going to _stop_ when he wins, he's just going to do it for _fun_ instead of strategy! Not that he's not more motivated by fun now…" Sirius trailed off bitterly.

"I know that," Regulus said, still defensive. "Why do you think I'm here? He was – wrong. The wrong leader, the wrong choice. But in _principle –_ "

"Murdering innocent people isn't fine by _any_ decent person's principles, Regulus!"

"What, because you've never tried to murder anyone?" Regulus snapped back. "What about Snape? I heard about what you did –"

"Snape's not an _innocent,_ " Sirius scoffed.

"He was underage! Shouldn't kids be _innocent_ by your standards?"

"Not _Snivellus,_ " Sirius sneered.

"You're such a hypocrite!"

"And you're not?"

"I'm not a _bully –_ "

"No, just a _Death Eater –_ "

"I've never gone after kids!"

"Your friends bloody well have! They went after _you_ , didn't they?"

"They didn't go _after_ me, I wanted to join!"

"Because you were _brainwashed,_ first by our lunatic _mother,_ and then by your worthless Slytherin _friends!_ You don't think they targeted you? You're a Black, you're a pureblood –"

"Of course they wanted me, but they didn't go _after_ –"

"They did! They filled your head with all this disgusting rubbish and then –"

"It was my decision!"

"You're a kid!"

"What, and Snape wasn't?" Regulus asked, more to prove a point than anything – he didn't agree with Sirius, he hadn't been _brainwashed,_ he had wanted this for as long as he could remember.

But Sirius looked like he was giving Regulus's words more thought than Regulus had expected.

"Snape's a git," he finally said, as if annoyed that he couldn't find a stronger argument.

"Something you and he have in common," Regulus snapped back.

"Who cares about Snape?" Sirius said. "We're talking about _you._ "

"I noticed." Regulus scowled. "One moment you're accusing me of happily joining murderers and rapists, the next you're saying I was brainwashed into it. Make up your mind, won't you?"

"So you admit they're rapists!"

"I'm quoting _you,_ you imbecile. We're _not –_ "

"What about Lily?" Sirius asked. "What about what they were going to do to her?"

"What are you talking about?"

Sirius got that annoying, superior little smile again. "Didn't they tell you? How they wanted to kill James and give Lily to someone else? But maybe you don't think that's rape, either? Maybe you think Lily should have been _happy_ if they murdered her husband and handed her off to some Death Eater?"

Regulus felt unsettled. "What, to Snape?"

Sirius looked disgruntled. "Initially. But he said no."

"Because she's a Mudbl-"

"Don't call her that!" Sirius snapped. "And no, I don't know. I don't think so." He sounded annoyed.

"Why else wouldn't he want to marry her?"

"I don't know, Reg, why don't you ask him? Maybe because he knew it was wrong?"

Regulus arched a brow. He hadn't been in the same year as Sirius and Snape, but he had witnessed enough incidents between them to know his brother's general attitude toward Snape. "You admit Snape knows right from wrong?"

"Shut up," Sirius snapped. "Where the bloody hell are we? Shouldn't we have found my cell by now?"

"Maybe we missed a turn?" Regulus asked. He hadn't exactly been paying attention, when they had first run from Bellatrix's Obliviated form and the Dementors gathering around it.

"Brilliant," Sirius muttered. "No, wait, here it is – but where is she?"

The floor beside the open cell door was empty. There was no sign of Bellatrix.

"You're sure this was your cell?" Regulus asked, severely unnerved.

Sirius shot him a look. "Of course I am. If you'd spent a few days in this wretched place, you'd remember it, believe me."

"Then she's not dead," Regulus said, both relieved and disturbed.

"Pity," Sirius muttered. He gestured down the corridor ahead of them. "This way, I'm guessing?"

Regulus hesitated, because it was the same way Bella must have gone. But they didn't have much choice, did they?

"We'll find a stairway down soon," he said, trying to sound less nervous than he felt. Sirius still had his wand, and there was worse than Bellatrix in the prison tonight. Regulus hadn't forgotten that the Dark Lord himself was somewhere in the fortress, conducting some business of his own. If they encountered him…

"Or a window," Sirius said. "You said we can summon brooms from a window, didn't you?"

Regulus nodded. He could see Sirius was anxious to get out from within these walls, and he felt the same. To fly out into the night, Sirius's Patronus protecting them… Regulus could think of nothing that would feel more comforting than a broom handle in his hand at this moment, except perhaps his wand.

"All right," Sirius said. "There has to be a turn somewhere."

Silent again, they moved forward, the great silver wolf gliding along with them. Regulus watched its glowing paws pad through the air, watched its fur ripple whenever it bared its teeth at a Dementor that ventured too close. Regulus had never been particularly bothered by the fact that he couldn't cast a Patronus, but in the protective glow of this one, he felt a pang of envy that Sirius had one.

"Has it always been a wolf?" he asked.

Sirius shot him an annoyed look, but Regulus thought there was something haunted in his eyes. "None of your business."

A few more seconds passed, then Regulus offered, "It's pretty."

"Would you shut up about it?" Sirius exclaimed. "Merlin, I'd forgotten what you're like."

"You forgot what I'm like?" Regulus echoed, both incredulous and hurt.

Sirius rolled his eyes. " _Annoying._ "

"It was just a compliment."

"I don't want you to tell me my Patronus is _pretty!"_

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to offend your masculinity. It's very, er, intimidating. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Sirius echoed in irritation, before seeming to recognize that Regulus was purposefully goading him. "Shut up."

Regulus felt a little more at ease now, a little less terrified that they were going to run into the Dark Lord at any second. And, though they obviously couldn't be in each other's presence more than a minute or two without arguing, he was slowly beginning to realize that he actually had missed Sirius.

Slightly, at least.

Probably more than Sirius had missed him.

He still thought Sirius was wrong, immature, and hypocritical, but it was… reassuring, almost, to have his older brother acting like the idiot he was, getting defensive that his Patronus had taken the form of a boy.

A dead boy, though. Regulus couldn't help remembering that, remembering the pain in Sirius's eyes, the (understandable) hatred with which he spoke of the Death Eaters.

And really, Regulus wasn't even sure why he was defending them now. He wasn't one of them – saving Sirius had made sure of that once and for all. Even if Bellatrix couldn't remember what he had done, the Dementors knew, and they would tell the Dark Lord – might even be telling him now. Regulus was firmly on the enemy's side now, no matter how much he disagreed with their politics.

He wondered if this was how Snape had felt, once he'd switched sides. He couldn't have been thrilled to find himself fighting alongside Sirius Black and James Potter. And Regulus had heard Snape discuss Muggles with just as much disdain as Regulus ever had, perhaps more.

But now Snape was fighting for them – or against the Dark Lord, at least.

Just like Regulus.

More likely than not, they'd both end up dead.

"Do you hear that?" Sirius asked suddenly, as they finally came to a fork in the corridor.

"What?"

"Shh! Listen!"

Regulus did, and heard distant shouting, some loud cracks, and a scream. Sirius sprang toward it just as Regulus started in the opposite direction. They stared at each other.

"You don't even know –" Regulus began.

"It doesn't matter! They need help –"

"You have my wand, Sirius! I'm not going into a duel wandless!"

"Well, I can't give it back, the Patronus'll go out! I can't cast anything with Bella's wand – here, why don't you take –"

" _I_ don't want it!"

"It's not going to _bite,_ don't be a baby!"

"It's _creepy,_ I don't want –"

"Regulus?"

The brothers froze, turning to stare at the wasted, ragged figure peering at them from the shadows of a cell. "Regulus?" she asked again.

Sirius flicked his wand – _Regulus's_ wand – and his Patronus glided closer to the cell. The woman inside pressed against the bars, her gaze flickering from the Patronus to Regulus. In the silver light of the wolf, her tangled silver-blond hair gleamed dully.

"Narcissa?" Regulus asked, shocked.

Sirius made a disgusted noise.

Narcissa's gaze darted between them, returning every now and then to the Patronus, whose presence she clearly craved. She was filthy, far from the elegant, haughty figure Regulus knew. "They're letting Death Eaters out, aren't they?" she whispered. "Will you let me out? Where's Bella?"

Regulus took a step back. The last thing he wanted to explain to Narcissa in that moment was how he had left her sister to be devoured by Dementors… whether or not that had actually occurred.

Narcissa glanced at Sirius again. "You said something about Bella's wand," she said, her tired voice a little sharper. "Where's Bella?"

Sirius tilted his head defiantly. "No idea."

Regulus watched the struggle in Narcissa's eyes, her concern for Bella warring with her desire to persuade them to let her out of the cell. The latter seemed to win out. "Will you help me?"

"The Death Eater's wife? I don't think so," Sirius sneered.

"Please," Narcissa whispered. "Please, I can't stay here –"

"Save your breath," Sirius said. "I don't care if –"

"I'm pregnant!"

Sirius and Regulus looked at each other quickly, alarmed. Narcissa's eyes had grown desperate. She pulled at her robes, and the brothers both flinched as her emaciated, but weirdly swollen belly came into view.

"You shouldn't be here," Sirius said immediately, horrified. "They should have let you out, pregnant women aren't supposed to be in Azkaban."

"I tried – they wouldn't see me, they wouldn't speak to me!"

"We have to let her out," Regulus said at once. "Sirius, you have to."

"Yeah – yeah, all right – _Merlin,_ a bloody _Death Eater_ baby –"

"It's just a baby!" Regulus snapped.

"Yeah – fine – _ugh,_ stand back, _cousin._ "

Narcissa vanished into the depths of the cell. Sirius aimed his wand at the lock, but Regulus said, "No, you have to get the wall beside the bars – the locks are all warded."

Sirius cast him an impatient look, but obeyed, aiming for the stone wall instead.

" _Confringo!"_

The first blast didn't open a hole big enough for Narcissa, but Sirius cast the hex twice more, and the stone crumbled away. Immediately, Narcissa climbed out, scraping her fingers on the rough rock and almost collapsing into Regulus's arms once she was out.

He could feel her trembling, though she straightened almost immediately, clearly too proud to accept more help than absolutely necessary despite her appalling condition. Her face was pale and drawn, her hair and robes filthy, the small swell of her growing child concealed once more.

"I can't believe it's even _alive,_ " Sirius muttered. "They barely even feed us in here."

"Us?" Narcissa asked, frowning at him.

"Yeah, I've been a prisoner, too. Not as long as you…" His gaze trailed over her haggard form.

"Let's go," Regulus said. "Find a window, Summon the brooms…"

"Brooms?" Narcissa whispered.

"Yeah," Sirius said, glancing down the corridor he had been so eager to follow. There was only silence from that direction now. He looked disturbed.

"This way," Regulus suggested, pointing down the other corridor. "The air smells fresher."

Sirius nodded, flicking his wand at his Patronus again. "Yeah. C'mon, Cousin Cissy."

" _Don't_ call me that," she said, but her voice was weak, and when Regulus offered her his arm to lean on, she grudgingly accepted.

Sirius grimaced. "Aren't we just a happy family?"

* * *

The sky above Azkaban was a flashing nightmare of wraithlike shadows and cornered silver animals that flickered wildly with the presence of so many Dementors. Harry had thought the hundred or so Dementors gliding toward him that night at the end of his third year had been terrifying; here, there were _thousands,_ literally _thousands_ of the soul-sucking horrors swarming the air, shielding the fleeing Death Eaters from pursuit and feasting on the rest of the humans – or trying to, at least.

Harry's Patronus was one of the strongest, galloping along beside Ginny's horse with a force of hope the Dementors could not withstand. A handful of other Patronuses were holding strong – a massive tiger, a sparking fire crab, a soaring crane, a charging bear – while many of the smaller Patronuses stayed close to their casters, biting and pecking and scratching at the inhuman hands that reached toward them.

The fight was nothing but chaos at this point, Order member and Auror alike struggling more to withstand the Dementors than to prevent the Death Eaters from escaping. It was abundantly clear – to everyone, probably – that coming here, trying to stop Voldemort's prison break and use it to their advantage, had been a mistake. In Harry's world, neither the Aurors nor the Order had been present when Voldemort had finally persuaded the Dementors to set the Death Eaters free. Harry had often wondered why the Order hadn't tried to intervene – now he understood.

They could have beaten the Death Eaters, easily. But the Dementors? In such numbers, here in the malevolent presence of their fortress?

"Where the hell is Dumbledore?" Ginny shouted, whizzing past him on her broom and firing a spell down at the roof, where a Death Eater was trying to mount one of the brooms that had been left there.

Harry had wondered the same. Dumbledore had been with them when they first Apparated, mid-flight, to the outer rim of Azkaban's wards, hovering over the windy black sea. But almost as soon as they had passed within the wards, Dumbledore had been swarmed by Dementors – _hundreds_ of them – and though the Order had tried to intervene, they had ultimately abandoned him to fly to Azkaban, where wizards far more defenseless than Dumbledore were likely suffering the same fate.

Harry had expected Dumbledore to break through the horde of Dementors in five seconds flat, but it had been at least ten minutes, and Dumbledore was still nowhere to be seen. The idea that the Dementors could have overpowered him was ludicrous; this was _Dumbledore,_ after all. But _something_ had delayed him, and Harry was just as desperate as Ginny to know what.

"Should we go – hey!" he shouted. "Look, there, the brooms!"

Ginny wheeled around, red braid flying, to see what Harry was yelling about. Three brooms had suddenly lifted themselves off the rooftop and were soaring, riderless, away from the roof – and downward.

"Someone's Summoning them!" Ginny shouted, just as Harry came to the same realization.

"C'mon!" he yelled back.

They dove around the edge of the fortress, following the brooms from a distance and watching as they shakily hurtled toward a window on one of the mid-levels. A hole had been blasted out of the side of the fortress there.

"Ready?" Ginny asked, before swooping down ahead of him.

Not bothering to answer, Harry leaned forward, urging his broom to catch up to hers. The cold wind whipped his hair back, the light of his Patronus filling the fog with an eerie, frozen glow.

From the hole in the fortress wall, he saw an answering gleam of silver light.

"Hold on – Ginny!" Harry bellowed, just as she fired off a spell. "WAIT!"

An answering spell blasted out of the fortress toward them, and they both dodged.

"WHAT, HARRY?" Ginny shouted, exasperated.

"They have a Patronus!"

He saw her direct her broom to the side, in the line of fire of the window, so she could look. "Oh. Oops."

The people inside seemed to realize the same thing at the same moment they had. "PRONGS?" someone shouted. "IS THAT YOU?"

Harry cringed. Great, just what he needed – yet _another_ reason for people to realize he was James's son.

Harry and Ginny dove down toward the hole together, pulling up to hover when they were level with the people inside.

Those people being Sirius Black, Regulus Black, and Narcissa Malfoy. An unlikely trio if Harry ever saw one, and the wolf Patronus raised a number of questions as well.

"Prongs, mate, I –" Sirius stopped suddenly. "Wait." He squinted. "You're not James, you're that bloke from the wedding – the one who was yelling about the Portkey before Volde-"

"Don't say the name!" Regulus snapped.

"You let them in!" Sirius exclaimed, starting to point his wand at Harry.

"Don't be stupid, Wormtail let them in," Ginny said, raising her wand as well.

"He did," Regulus confirmed.

"But then who're –"

"We're friends!" Harry said impatiently. "Listen, it's a disaster up on the roof, the Dementors are beating us – we need all the help we can get –"

"Who's 'we'?"

"The Order! The Aurors!"

Sirius still looked suspicious. Regulus, eyeing Harry curiously, said, "We don't have wands – she and I – my brother has mine –"

Harry absorbed that all, but it was Ginny who looked at Sirius and asked curiously, "Your Patronus is a wolf?"

It was Remus, of course. Harry recognized that at once. He felt a deep pang of compassion for Sirius, and remembered both of them dying, Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, Remus in the Battle of Hogwarts. He thought of Teddy, and felt a sickening sense of guilt.

"What does it matter?" Sirius was saying.

"We can't fight," Regulus said, "we need to get her out of here –"

"What's she doing here, anyway?" Ginny asked.

"She's a Death Eater's wife," Sirius said darkly.

"Yes, I know that, dolt, I meant why is she with _you?_ Are you taking hostages now?"

"She's pregnant," Regulus explained.

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, probably thinking the same thing: was _this_ world going to have that annoying little slimeball Draco Malfoy in it, too?

"It's not safe for her here, we have to get her away from the Dementors," Regulus said. "It's a miracle the baby's survived this long –"

"Assuming it _is_ alive," Sirius muttered.

"But we can't fight with you, we need to get _away!_ " Regulus finished.

Narcissa had said nothing this whole time, but Harry could see her gaze flickering between him and Ginny, wondering what they were going to do to her, if they were going to leave her here to rot or toss her into the North Sea. Ginny gave Harry a look that was equal parts exasperated, annoyed, and resigned.

"Guess we're saving baby Malfoy," she said, her nose twisted up in distaste in remarkable imitation of the Narcissa Malfoy of their own world.

Harry couldn't argue. He knew how desperately they (and their Patronuses) were needed on the roof, but leaving a pregnant woman to be Kissed? Even with Sirius and his Remus Patronus as a guard, there was no guarantee she'd reach the edge of the Anti-Apparation wards safely.

"All right," Harry said, suppressing a sigh, "you have the brooms? Good, let's go. Just to the edge of the wards, mind you. We're _losing_ up there."

* * *

Dumbledore searched the seemingly endless churning mass of Dementors with the light of his three phoenix Patronuses, their silver wings spread wide as they swept in and out of the hungry mass, dipping and diving, illuminating the folds of darkness surrounding him.

Dumbledore could have easily broken through – _easily._ But Tom had laid his trap well, in evident preparation for the possibility of Dumbledore's arrival and interference. The Dementors, almost immediately after enclosing Dumbledore in what had seemed a foolish attempt to contain him, had produced a pair of hostage children, unconscious and deathly white, but still clearly ensouled. The Dementors had then withdrawn the innocents into the shifting mass of their army, hidden from Dumbledore's view.

Scattering the Dementors was easy, with Patronuses as powerful as Dumbledore's, but, even as they retreated, the Dementors swarmed around each other, concealing the children, keeping them out of reach. Dumbledore had penetrated their ranks once, and retrieved one of the children, who now sat slumped in front of him on his broom. The other child – a girl, Dumbledore thought, smaller than the boy he had rescued – was still lost.

Dumbledore knew the futility of what he was attempting. Even if he managed to save both children, countless others were likely being Kissed at this very moment, in Azkaban. Voldemort had obviously been better prepared for their attack than they had anticipated. Dumbledore was needed in the fortress, and logic dictated he abandon this child and fly to the prison immediately.

Yet he didn't. Tom had, indeed, chosen his ploy well. Dumbledore told himself the Order and the Aurors would protect the innocents in Azkaban, while this child had no one to protect her but him. To abandon her now – to allow this precious soul to be stolen and devoured – would have been hideous.

And so he strove against the Dementors, his will bent against them even as his Patronuses sifted through the seething shadows that slid in receding waves from their light. He could _feel_ the child – she was a witch, he was sure of it – could feel her bright little soul, still intact, still untouched. Of course, Tom would have known that Dumbledore (like Tom himself) could sense whether a soul had been removed. He would have ordered the Dementors to keep the child whole while they delayed him.

Clever, Dumbledore acknowledged. Much cleverer than some of Tom's schemes. There was an evil elegance to it that, frankly, reminded Dumbledore of Gellert – something Tom had rarely managed before. But Dumbledore's confidence, which had been so shaken during Gellert's wars, was immune to any influence of Tom's.

Yet his phoenixes, determined as they were, could only drive the Dementors away; they could not force them to separate, no matter which angles of attack Dumbledore chose, nor could they discover the child as Fawkes could have done.

"But of course," Dumbledore murmured. "Why didn't I think…?" He did not bother to finish the thought, already reaching out, with his heart and soul, to his dearest friend. _Fawkes, I have need of you._

The phoenix appeared in a burst of scarlet flame, his blazing light mingling with that of the silver Patronuses to illuminate the sea and fog. Only seconds later, Fawkes cried out, a low, mournful sound that had the Dementors turning their heads, not in dread so much as in hunger.

Dumbledore followed his phoenixes – physical and ethereal – into the gliding army of wraiths. The Dementors were as drawn to Fawkes as they were repelled by the Patronuses, and Dumbledore took advantage of their confusion, already beginning to see where the child must be hidden, where their ranks were still resolutely shielding something from his eyes. They tried to flee, and he surrounded them – his Patronuses diving with outstretched talons and beaks, his familiar luring them with a siren song of grief. They broke apart; Dumbledore saw the child. One Dementor still clung to her, holding her effortlessly above the sea. Dumbledore watched the cold fingers loosen, watched the child begin to drop –

– and caught her, with a smooth dive that would have left Mr. Potter delighted.

It was then, when there was no chance that he might startle the Dementors into Kissing her, that he allowed his full power to manifest.

His Patronuses began to glow brighter, shining clearer and clearer until the very sight of them was a sharp agony, an agony the Dementors could feel, an agony they shied away from even as their hooded heads followed Fawkes's burning path across the night sky. White light burst from the Patronus feathers, splitting the gloom and terror with glorious, deadly hope.

The Dementors fled, flowing back toward their holdfast in a tide of hatred and resentment.

Barely burdened by the two unconscious children, Dumbledore followed them, streaking through the fog and darkness toward the fortress, his gold and silver companions lighting the way.


	58. Chapter 58

58

Hermione's little otter Patronus bobbed uncertainly in the wake of Lily's doe, its silver tail little more than a wisp of unraveling magic. Her fingers felt numb around her wand, and her teeth were chattering despite the Patronuses' presence. She had never seen so many Dementors in her life. Not even during the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I thought you couldn't cast a Patronus?" Severus whispered. A whisper was all any of them had managed here; every time they heard someone shouting in the distance, they all flinched and pressed closer together, trembling, as if the mere echo of a far-off scream would be enough to blow away the fragile silver doe guarding them.

"Of c-course I can," Hermione whispered back, shivering but offended. "It's just that… it's not always v-very reliable…"

Like the day they'd broken into the Ministry, when her Patronus hadn't wanted to come. She could still remember the drop in her stomach when the Patronus didn't work, a feeling not only of fear but of _failure,_ because she was supposed to be _good_ at magic, but she wasn't really, was she, she was just a _failure,_ at this, at everything…

"Hermione," Severus warned, as her otter started to disintegrate.

"S-sorry," Hermione breathed, struggling to get a grip. "The t-trouble is just that I s-start _thinking -_ "

"Don't think," he advised, touching her arm. She might have been annoyed that he was giving her advice - after all, _he_ couldn't cast a Patronus at _all_ \- but the pressure of his fingers on her arm, light though it was, made it much easier to just _feel._

Though its edges were still a blur, the otter did shine a little brighter.

Lily's Patronus, on the other hand, was brilliantly clear, stepping delicately through the air ahead of them, turning its graceful head this way and that to glare at the Dementors until they retreated. Hermione was both relieved by its presence and deeply envious. Her Patronus had only ever been that clear when they had practiced in the Room of Requirement for the D.A., when there were no Dementors in sight.

 _Why_ couldn't she master this spell? Why was it so hard for her to make this magic, this bright, beautiful, loving magic, bend to her will? Shouldn't this magic be easiest for her? If she was really a good person, if she really -

"Hermione," Severus murmured again.

She took a deep breath, trying to fight down the panic and insecurity. Lily's Patronus was shielding her from the worst of the Dementors' effects, but her little otter still seemed pitifully inadequate - just like her.

It wasn't like she didn't know why they had given her the task of freeing the prisoners. It was because she could cast a Patronus, but not a _strong_ Patronus; because she could duel, but was not a _great_ duelist. Because she was mediocre, second-best, an insufferable know-it-all who couldn't actually _do_ anything except trail after better, greater wizards -

" _Hermione._ " Severus, though horribly pale, looked like he was trying for some weak amusement. "You're thinking again."

"Thinking is all I know how to do," she grumbled.

"Don't be stupid," he said immediately.

She glared at him.

His eyes seemed to flash in the light of the Patronuses. "You're -"

"I think this is the first one," Lily interrupted him.

At once, they all turned toward the cell she was indicating, Hermione glancing down at the diagram in her hand to check.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes, it definitely is. Er… Mr. Standerwick? Are you there?"

It was a stupid question. Where else would he be? But the cell was eerily silent. They crept closer, the otter Patronus weaving between the bars while the doe stood guard.

And yet, Hermione couldn't help noticing, there seemed to be fewer Dementors than before, far fewer than in the corridor they had just left. Why…?

"Oh!" Lily cried out, backing up so quickly she stepped on Hermione's foot. She was trembling all over, and for a terrifying moment, it looked like her doe Patronus was about to fade out.

"Lily!" Severus and Hermione said together.

Lily took a few frantic breaths, shutting her eyes tightly. The doe began to take on sharper definition again, and in its brighter light, Hermione saw what Lily had seen.

A man - Mr. Standerwick, no doubt - was lying on his back in the middle of the cell, gazing at nothing, with nothing in his eyes - nothing at all.

And Hermione knew, on a level deeper than logic and reason, that the man in front of her no longer had a soul.

She shuddered as Lily had; her Patronus vanished entirely. She thought she might throw up, or faint. She thought Lily's Patronus was dissolving as well, until she realized it was blurring because her eyes were full of tears.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," she was whispering, only half-aware of what she was saying.

Beside her, Severus was silent but deathly white, his dark eyes fixed on the soulless man with some kind of fascinated horror.

It was Lily who pulled herself together enough to say, "We need to keep going. Find the others, before…"

That spurred them all into movement. Without ever agreeing to it, they were all half-running, terrified of what they might find. Hermione knew Lily was thinking about Sirius, and against her will she was thinking of him, too. He was here because _she_ had said no to him - what if he lost his soul because of it? What would Harry say?

What if they were too late for _everyone?_

* * *

James stood outside the open door of what was supposed to be Sirius's cell, his heart twisting in his chest. The cell was empty, there were hex marks all over the walls, and the prisoners on either side had been Kissed. Sirius was gone.

Taken.

At least, James _hoped_ he had been taken. He hoped Padfoot was alive somewhere, fighting and planning his escape, and not discarded in some dark corner of Azkaban, dead or soulless.

He tried to tell himself it didn't matter - that he would go back and change it, change _all_ of it, and everything that was happening now would simply cease to be - but alarm was searing through his body, making his pulse race and his limbs shake.

What if Padfoot was _dead?_ What if James was the only one left?

He turned to look around the corridor, searching for any sign of which way the Death Eaters might have taken him. His Patronus lit the corridor brightly, a silent, painful reminder of the friendship they had all shared, the discoveries they had made, the things they had accomplished. How had it all fallen apart?

With Peter, yes, but _how?_ How could Peter do that to them? _Why?_

He still didn't understand. Maybe enough time had passed now that his sense of betrayed grief was greater than his sense of rage, or maybe it was just Azkaban, but the despair of it struck him harder now than it ever had before. Hadn't their friendship meant something? Hadn't it meant _everything?_

He gazed in anguished doubt at his Patronus, and it stirred uneasily. James shook himself. He couldn't let these thoughts get to him, not now, not when he was alone. One of the Prewetts was supposed to be with him, shielding him with his Patronus while James stayed ready to duel, but Prewett had gotten caught up in the battle on the roof, while James himself had as of yet not encountered a single Death Eater within Azkaban's walls.

He wondered how many of them had already escaped. Had Peter? Was it Peter who had come for Sirius? Surely not. Surely Peter wouldn't _dare._

But James was all too aware that Sirius had been without a wand. So had Peter - but what if that had changed? James didn't trust Peter not to find a wand, even if he had to steal one from the fallen Aurors and Order members on the roof.

James knew he should have waited until Prewett could come with him, that he should, perhaps, have stayed on the roof where the action was thickest. But the thought of Sirius down here rotting away had been too much to bear, and he'd raced down here on his own, confident in his Patronus, confident in his ability to duel even while maintaining his Patronus.

After all, if Alice Longbottom could do it, _he_ certainly could.

And he had been right - the empty cell proved it. Sirius needed his help.

Even if he _could_ change everything. Even if none of this really mattered, and all these Kissed people could be safe and whole again. Even so, he needed to help Sirius _now._

He took off down the corridor, picking a direction at random because the Death Eaters had left no trace. Every now and then, a little hummingbird Patronus flashed past him, but they were few and far between, and growing fainter. James didn't doubt that they had saved many lives (or souls, rather), but how many more had they failed to save? He had seen at least five prisoners who had been Kissed - there was no mistaking that soulless look in their eyes, that terrifying emptiness that he could _feel,_ an absence where there should have been a presence. And if he had already seen five, that meant there must be a dozen at least.

A dozen souls lost. There would be no afterlife for them, no reincarnation, no whatever-came-next. They were just gone. Forever.

 _No._ He would change it. He _had_ to change it.

He was jogging down yet another corridor when he finally heard something - shouts from up ahead, blasting noises like spells. He raced toward the duel, only to come up short as the echoes shifted, disorienting him. Where was the noise coming from?

He tried one corridor, then another. A few prisoners cried out to him for help - good, they hadn't been Kissed, then. But the duel, which he could still hear, wasn't in either corridor. The first ended with a stairwell going up, probably toward the roof. The second ended in a stairwell leading down.

James turned back, listening hard, wishing he had taken a closer look at Moody's map. He had memorized the route to Sirius's cell, but nothing else, and at this point he had no idea where he was, or how to get to the duel he was hearing.

And he could still hear it, but it was fainter now, more distant. The corridor behind him was empty save for a pair of Dementors that glided away when he sent his Patronus racing after them.

It was then that he heard another noise, not back the way he had come, but below him - in the stairwell.

Footfalls. Light, barely audible, but still echoing from the dank stone walls.

James listened for a moment, holding his breath. The steps were unhurried, slow almost, and something about them made his skin crawl, made him want to cringe and cower. For several seconds he hesitated, hating the idea of hiding, but certain, in every fiber of his being, that he _had_ to. His Patronus was still at the other end of the corridor where he had sent it after the two Dementors, and he didn't think its light would have been visible to someone climbing the stairs yet, but it soon would be, even if only as a faint glow.

It was insane, but James did the only thing he could think of. He crept back along the corridor until he found an empty cell, slipped inside it, and let his Patronus die.

Utter black surrounded him, along with utter cold. In one of the other cells, a prisoner cried out at the sudden loss of the Patronus, and James heard him reach through the bars, heard his desperate breaths.

He heard his own desperate breaths as well, and forced himself to be quiet even as memories began flooding his head.

His parents, dead. Remus, dead. All burned, all unrecognizable except those little tiny traits that he knew, because he knew _them,_ because he _loved_ them.

They were never coming back.

He pressed his palms to his eyes. They _were_ coming back. He would _change_ it.

Cold swept toward him, icy despair. They were _not_ coming back.

It was over, everything was over. Everything he had hoped for, everything he had loved. He had married Lily, but it wasn't right - they both knew it wasn't right, that something had broken between them, because of his lies, because of the law, because of Snape and the wedding and most of all because of _him,_ because she had seen something in him she didn't like, something she would have walked away from if she could have.

He knew it, though she'd never said it. He knew that she would have called the engagement off if she'd had a choice. He knew this was all an obligation, that no matter how much she cared for him, she didn't want this, not anymore.

They should have been here together, their matching Patronuses side by side, James her protector, she his light and happiness. Instead she was with Granger and Snape, because she had volunteered, because she had known full well the alternative was coming here with him.

This marriage was lost, even before it had begun. Lily was lost, Moony was lost, Peter and Padfoot and his parents and so many of his friends and family, lost. Everything lost.

And he couldn't change it.

James wanted to scream as the conviction seized him, as the losses crushed him in a way he hadn't allowed them to before. He wanted to cry out in rage and helpless grief, to tear this building, this whole world apart. He had lost everything.

It was too much. Too painful. He needed his Patronus, but if he couldn't have that, he could at least have Prongs.

He transformed, his hooves scraping lightly against the stone floor, his antlers almost touching the ceiling. He huffed out a breath, relieved as his despair was quieted, as his panicked grief faded to a dull ache.

Then he heard the footsteps again, and remembered that he needed to be silent.

Standing motionless in the darkness, he waited. The darkness was not so complete now. A strange violet glow had begun to suffuse the corridor, casting disturbing shadows across the walls.

But no, those weren't shadows: they were Dementors, gliding from cell to cell, searching for something.

For him.

He knew it instinctively, even as a dark, gliding figure paused before the bars of the cell where he was hiding. It hovered there for a moment, its dark hood obscuring whatever perversion of a face it might have. Its head turned to either side, back and forth in a slow, disturbing movement, a rattling sound emerging from its throat.

James held perfectly still, knowing it couldn't see him, but not at all certain it couldn't sense him, stag or not.

It could sense _something,_ that was clear. But it seemed confused by it. James supposed it had not had many opportunities to encounter stags here in the middle of the North Sea. Could it sense his soul? Concealed within the breast of a deer, did his soul feel the same?

Apparently not. The Dementor retreated, presumably to search the next cell. James resisted the urge to let out a relieved huff of air, and held still. The violet light was much closer now, and he could hear those creepy footfalls.

Creepy, because they were barefoot. James saw the white feet before his gaze slid up the shadowed robes to a spiderlike white hand, an even whiter face.

And those eyes - gleaming red, with a glint of malevolent violet from the tinted _Lumos_ spell he seemed to have cast.

Yet there was something _wrong_ with his eyes - with his entire face. Veinlike tendrils of wounded flesh webbed out from his eyes, though whether of burns or venom or some unknown curse, James couldn't tell. James had not seen the wizard this closely when he had sent his Inferi tumbling over the cliff to the cave. He had not seen just how terrible Voldemort's face really was.

He held still, praying the purple light would not cast stag-shaped shadows across the walls of his cell. Voldemort was moving slowly, casually, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Each step he took made James's entire body quiver with animal hatred and fear. Each step seemed to take an eternity.

Then he was past, his soft footfalls fainter and fainter against the cold stone floor. James waited until the sound was gone, until utter darkness had fallen again. Then, with a jerk of his antlers, he caught the edge of the cell door and swung it open so he could emerge.

A hummingbird Patronus chose that moment to flit down the corridor, jabbing at the Dementors and driving them away from the cells, back the way Voldemort had gone. They reached out scabby, clammy hands to try to brush the bird out of the air, almost clawing at it as if they longed to catch and crush it, but in the end the little light was too much for them, and they retreated, radiating resentment.

In the hummingbird's pale light, James could see the corridor again. He stepped out of his cell, then stopped short as the prisoner in the cell across from him let out a frightened shriek.

It took him a few seconds to realize the source of the prisoner's alarm was _him -_ the tall, dark, shadowy stag that had just emerged from an even darker cell, illuminated only by the unearthly light of the Patronus.

"It's not real," the prisoner muttered, "not real, not real…"

Marginally cheered, James stepped fully out into the corridor, glancing the way Voldemort had gone, debating whether to follow him.

But then he glanced the other way, toward the stairway Voldemort had just ascended. What had Voldemort been doing down there? He hadn't emerged with any prisoners, so he hadn't been freeing anyone. And there had been a sense of purpose, of malicious intent, in every one of his movements. He had _done_ something. James could feel it.

His hooves clopped lightly against the stone as he made his way to the stairwell, gazing down into its quickly darkening depths. The hummingbird was departing; the light was fading. James transformed again, thought of his plan to change everything, and tried to cast his Patronus.

Nothing happened.

It was the Dementors, he knew. They had gotten to him. All the doubts and fears he had never permitted to gain purchase in his mind had gained plenty of purchase now, and then some. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think of his friends, the Marauders - but that wouldn't do, Peter was a traitor, Moony was dead, and Padfoot was probably the Death Eaters' prisoner. Lily? Lily didn't even want to be his wife…

And his parents were dead. _Everyone_ was dead.

James gritted his teeth, muttered, " _Lumos,_ " instead, and watched as a not-very-comforting light appeared at the end of his wand.

Quickly, he began descending the stairs, hoping Voldemort's presence had kept the Dementors away from this particular stairwell, at least for now - until James could get a grip. The stairwell was narrow, cold, but cold in a different way than the corridor he had just left. Indeed, there was something almost wholesome about it. No, not wholesome, exactly, but - neutral. That was it. It was a neutral cold. Like the cold of a winter's night, of the stars or the sea.

James felt certain, suddenly, that he would find no Dementors here.

At first there were cells on either side, carved out of the stone. Then those ceased, and he was descending alone, his footsteps echoing around him, the taste of salt in the air and ice glinting on the walls. The feeling of neutrality, of a natural rather than an evil cold, remained, and James found himself relaxing into it, breathing more deeply than he had allowed himself in the Dementor-tainted air, his wandlight brightening in tune to his relief.

This wasn't a bad place, wasn't an evil place. It wasn't a good place, necessarily, but there was something compelling about it, something safe.

What in Merlin's name had Voldemort been doing here, then?

That gave him pause, made his shoulders tense. Something wasn't right. What would Voldemort want in a place like this? What would Voldemort be doing here at all, when there were Aurors and Order members wiping out his few remaining Death Eaters upstairs? And what _was_ this place? James had never heard of Azkaban having a secret, comfortable dungeon. He'd never heard of Azkaban being anything but a prison.

He stopped dead. That wasn't true - he _had_ heard something else. What was it? When was it? He racked his brains, trying to remember.

It had been Dumbledore, hadn't it? Dumbledore had been talking about the Dementors, about how they'd come from _somewhere else,_ about how that Ekrizdis git had somehow let them in to this reality.

James teetered on the edge of something, his mind reaching out for something just beyond his grasp. It all _meant_ something - it _had_ to. But what?

And why would Voldemort be here? Was he planning to bring in new horrors from some other dimension? Something worse than Dementors?

But if this passageway led to some breach in the fabric of reality, some chasm opening into the Dementors' world, then why did it feel so… serene?

More slowly now, James followed the last few winding steps down to a narrow, almost natural-looking tunnel. The walls here looked more like cavern walls than walls built by man, and James found that, too, to be comforting. This place was older, older than Azkaban, older than Dementors, maybe. And there was something in the air, some sense of mystery or allure, some sense of belonging.

James felt an indescribable pull toward the tunnel, toward whatever lay beyond. It was like waking up from a nightmare and longing, almost instinctively, for his mother; like hearing a knock on the door and irrationally expecting it to be his father; like trying to conjure a Patronus, and thinking without remembering of the Marauders and all the happy memories they'd shared.

It was a feeling of something lost, that shouldn't have been lost. Something that was _so close,_ but infinitely out of reach.

The battle raging on the rooftop above, the Dementors stalking the corridors, the Death Eaters and Aurors and friends he had left behind, all seemed to vanish into total inconsequence. He wanted to enter that tunnel, to leave everything, and a part of him suspected he would never return.

 _I could change everything,_ he reminded himself.

And then, with a dawning sense of wonder, he realized: this was how they had done it. Ekrizdis had messed around with time, hadn't he? Hadn't Dumbledore said so? And James knew his future son couldn't have used a Time-Turner. Was this it? The answer? That longing he felt, was it for the possibility that lay ahead of him, the possibility to change it all?

Burning with excitement now, he started forward - only to stop again as a distant, piercing scream echoed down the stairwell from above.

 _Lily._

He couldn't have said how he knew it was her, from that one scream alone, but he did. Then she screamed again, and he thought somewhere in the indistinct echoes scattering down to him, he heard the word, " _Help!"_

She needed him.

But the answer was _right there._

She needed help!

But if he changed everything -

James let out a cry of desperate frustration, took another step down the tunnel, then abruptly turned on his heel and raced up the stairs.

"Lily!" he yelled. "Lily!"

It was stupid to yell, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He thought he heard her scream his name, and then the screams stopped, and his heart seemed to stop, too, before exploding with rage.

" _Lily!_ "

He tripped on the stairs, smashed his chin on the cold stone, got up and kept running. There was silence above now, terrifying silence, and that icy, evil cold had begun to sweep down on him again.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ he shouted, full of fear, but full of love, too. His stag burst out of his wand, galloping ahead of him, and by the time he burst into the corridor where he'd seen Voldemort, the Dementors were gone, while James's stag waited impatiently for him to catch up.

"Where is she?" he yelled, as if the Patronus could somehow know.

And maybe it did. It turned and galloped forward, driving the Dementors out of its way, while James, panting and bleeding from his chin, dashed after it. There were no Death Eaters, no Order members, no one to fight or help, no one to explain what had happened. Ahead, James could see what looked like crumbling stone, could feel a blast of cold, salty air.

The wind, sweeping in from the sea. Someone had blasted apart the fortress walls, leaving the wind and fog to pour in through the gaping hole.

And his Patronus leapt straight through it, out into the air, shining fainter and fainter as it galloped into the fog, into the wind, into the night.


	59. Chapter 59

59

Severus and Hermione dashed down another corridor, gasping for breath, shaking and terrified.

"This way - no, see, there it is -"

The little hummingbird ahead was flitting away from them, carrying out its caster's command to patrol the corridors, completely oblivious to how desperately they were chasing it. Hermione's otter had been cast and lost and cast again, lost again. Severus had tried the spell, failed miserably, and it was he who had caught sight of the hummingbird, he who had dragged Hermione after it as if their very lives - their souls - depended on it: this one little point of brightness among all the malicious terrors around them.

Lily was gone. _Gone._ Dead or alive, he didn't know, but she was gone. She had screamed at her Patronus to stay as the Death Eaters dragged her away, as the Voldemort himself bound her and the Lestranges flung her over a broomstick and took off, leaving Hermione and Severus staring after them, too terrified to shoot spells at their retreating forms for fear of hitting Lily instead.

She had commanded her doe to stay with them, and with the people they had freed, but those people had scattered, fleeing in terror from Voldemort and his burned, burning eyes. The doe had darted here and there, trying to protect all of them, but by the time Severus and Hermione had torn themselves away from the crumbling edge of the hole, the doe was out of sight, the rescued prisoners gone, and they had been alone, without protection against the Dementors that had swarmed toward them, backing them up to the edge of the crumbling hole.

It was Hermione who had saved them then, clutching Severus's hand and casting her little otter. It had lasted just long enough to get them away from the deadly drop, before winking out. Again she had cast it, and again it had lasted long enough to get them away - but now it was gone, the Dementors were gliding hungrily after them, and Alice Longbottom's wretched, precious little Patronus was zipping away too fast for them to follow.

It was a nightmare - indeed, it _felt_ like a nightmare, with Severus's every step seeming weighed down by forces outside of his control, his body weary, his salvation always just out of reach. He felt like he was wading through icy water, clawing his way forward as if he could drag himself away from the Dementors. Beside him, Hermione was sobbing; he didn't know if she was trapped in some memory or if she was just scared, as he was, scared of what could happen to them, scared of what _would_ happen if they couldn't keep up with this Patronus.

" _Ex-expecto…_ " Hermione whispered, but couldn't even finish.

Severus, already gripping her hand, squeezed hard. His heart was racing faster than the hummingbird's wings could beat, in direct contrast to his ever-slowing legs, his stumbling feet, his frozen thoughts.

This was a disaster, an utter disaster. How could they have failed so completely? All their plans seemed absurd now - splitting up, freeing prisoners - their little teams - how foolish could they have been? They had isolated themselves, rendered themselves vulnerable, and Severus had seen more than one Order member dead on the ground, a dozen prisoners had been Kissed, and the Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen - gone, probably, gone like Lily, like Voldemort.

And now he and Hermione were alone, helpless, with no idea what was happening in the battle - if battle it could be called - or where their rescued prisoners had gone, or how to get out, or how to survive.

The hummingbird darted to the side, through a narrow archway, up a flight of stairs. Severus dragged Hermione toward it, panting and frantic, only to draw back with a wordless cry as Dementors got there first.

Darkness fell. The hummingbird was long gone, flitting off to save some other souls, but not theirs. Severus managed a weak _Lumos_ spell, but his hand was shaking, a thousand terrible memories wrenching his mind this way and that as he struggled to Occlude. Beside him, Hermione was trembling wretchedly. He thought she might be close to fainting. In desperation, Severus dragged her into a cell - its door was open, he thought they might have freed someone from here earlier - and slammed the door shut.

"They have a k-key," Hermione whispered.

He nodded. He could already see one of the Dementors gliding forward, its repulsive hand slipping into its robes. Severus clutched Hermione closer, glanced behind them at the cell. There was no window, no means of escape. They were trapped in here, until the Dementors came for them. And then they would be trapped in a worse prison, he supposed, in whatever chasm of malice and torment served as a Dementor's belly.

" _Expecto P-Patronum. Expecto Patron… Expecto…"_ Hermione sobbed again. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry, Severus…"

"It's not your fault," he whispered. His voice was shaking. "I can't even cast the bloody thing."

"Our m-mouths," she whispered. "I c-can…"

But she couldn't. He could see that perfectly well. Her hands were shaking, and so were his, far too badly to Transfigure anything, certainly not their faces. If only the hummingbird could come back - then they _could_ Transfigure themselves, they should have bloody done that to begin with. But no - they had trusted Lily's doe, trusted that she would be with them. They had never imagined Voldemort striding out of the shadows to duel them all.

Severus knew they were lucky not to have died then. Then again, death would have been infinitely preferable to this…

The cell door swung open. Hermione was gripping his arms so tightly he would have bruises - not that he would be around to feel them. He pushed her behind him, even as she tried again, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

This time a sliver of light emerged, like faint starlight clinging to the air. Severus and Hermione gazed at it as if it were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, a precious, fragile strand of hope.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ Hermione said again, and the sliver of light grew stronger, still formless, still fragile, but enough to give the Dementors pause.

Severus pushed Hermione toward the door of the cell - if they could just get out - if they could just _run -_

But one of the Dementors reached out for the thread of light and brushed it aside like a cobweb. It vanished.

Again, Severus pushed Hermione behind him, though there was nowhere to go. They were backed into a corner between the stone wall and the bars. But Severus could stand in front of her, give her a chance… a few seconds more…

The Dementor that had brushed the Patronus aside reached for him now, sharp, gnarled fingers grappling at the front of his robes, and he couldn't help it; he turned his back on the Dementor with a frightened gasp, as if that would help, as if the creature couldn't simply pull him around.

Hermione's eyes were wide and terrified, their warm darkness flickering into cold fear. Severus felt the Dementor's hands touching his robes, gripping, dragging, and instinctively reached out to grip the bars on either side of Hermione's head, his wand lying flush against the bar in his right hand, still glowing dimly with his pitiful _Lumos_.

If he could just hold on - the Dementors couldn't get to them like this, facing each other, blocked into their corner -

His fingers were cold and numb against the icy bars, and already Dementors outside the cell were trying to pry them apart. Behind him, hands kept pulling, more than one Dementor now, their hands at his neck, his shoulders, his waist, even gripping his hair.

"No," Hermione whimpered, then, with a sudden look of grim resolve, whispered again, _"Expecto Patronum!_ "

It was just a little flash of light, but the inhuman fingers in Severus's hair loosened, and he pressed closer to Hermione, close enough that his nose brushed her forehead for a moment.

She looked up at him in surprise, and he felt a moment of self-loathing, of utter shame that he couldn't protect her, that he was what he was, that this was the end.

Then he saw gnarled hands slipping between the bars to grip _her_ hair, to stroke _her_ face, to turn her toward them, as if they could suck her soul out even through the bars, and in a moment of pure panicked horror he let go of the bars with one hand, grabbed her roughly by the side of her head, pulled her away from the Dementors, and kissed her.

He wasn't aware of ever having made a conscious decision to do so. It wasn't romantic or sweet, it definitely wasn't rational, but somehow in his Dementor-clouded mind he seemed to have come to the conclusion that if he kissed her, they couldn't.

Probably untrue. But it was too late for such considerations now.

And the kiss was having an effect he hadn't intended. As her lips pressed hard against his in a way they hadn't when they'd kissed to seal their marriage, a jolt of heat shot through him, like a hot jagged knife cutting through the Dementors' cold, painful in its intensity. For a moment, he could feel his fingers fully, and could tighten his grip both on the prison bar in his one hand and on her face in the other. He could feel one of her hands gripping his robes, could feel it slide suddenly around him to press into his back, pulling him closer. And he could feel her mouth, so cold, but getting warmer by the second, kissing him back, kissing him _hard,_ and without really meaning to he pressed his whole body against her, pressed her against the bars, as if he could shield every inch of her from the freezing darkness around them.

His Occlumency shields were beginning to fail, but there was _happiness_ there, happiness that burned brightly for a moment before he slammed the shields back into place, shielding it, hoarding it like a treasure, refusing to surrender even the smallest glimmer of it to anyone but himself - and her - was she as warm as he suddenly was, was she happy?

Was he twisted and sick, to find happiness in a moment like this, to feel such a burning torturous pleasure when there were Dementors literally trying to tear them apart?

Had he simply gone mad?

She broke away from him suddenly, and he felt an echoing break inside of him, a fracture in his shields that left him naked and raw for one abhorrent second. Then she met his gaze, her eyes absolutely _burning,_ and whispered triumphantly, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

He didn't have to turn to look to know she had succeeded. The Dementors released him at once, and warmth of a somewhat more wholesome kind swept over him as the Patronus drove the creatures back. He saw it wind through the bars of the cell, saw it force the Dementors outside to release them. He pulled Hermione back into the cell, and she kicked the cell door shut.

They were once more trapped within, the Dementors without. But they weren't alone now. The silver otter twisted and twirled through the air in front of the bars, something distinctly spiteful in its mocking little dance.

Hermione, too, had something delightfully spiteful about her in that moment, in the curve of her triumphant grin, in the flush of her cheeks beneath her sparkling eyes. Severus couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted badly to kiss her again.

When she looked away from her otter and met his gaze, he simultaneously wanted to vanish into the floor and sweep her off it. He was embarrassed, despite the indisputable evidence that his kiss had _not_ been unwelcome, but he was also devilishly pleased with the fact that _he_ had made her look like this, _he_ had made her happy enough to cast her Patronus.

For a few moments, nothing else mattered. Just the look in her eyes, and the fact that she was drawing closer and closer and -

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Severus and Hermione jerked apart, both raising their wands. Severus knew he should have recognized the accent, but it was Hermione gasped and whispered, "Dolohov!"

"Do I know you?" Dolohov asked curiously.

He had a wand. That was the first thing Severus noticed - somehow, this until recently imprisoned Death Eater had acquired a wand.

His gaze slid to Severus. "I _do_ know _you…_ traitor." He glanced at Hermione again. "Funny. This isn't the Mudblood you betrayed us for, is it?"

"Don't call her that!" Severus snapped.

"Why not? Am I spoiling the mood?" Dolohov grinned. "Your other Mudblood got married, I heard. So you had to settle for… this."

Severus was angry, but he was also afraid. Dolohov was older than him, more experienced, and inarguably a good duelist. He hadn't been in Azkaban long enough to have wasted away; it was one of Hermione's tips that had gotten him arrested, although Severus hoped Dolohov wasn't aware of that. And Severus and Hermione were trapped in this cell, shielded from Dementors, but certainly not from a Dark wizard.

Dolohov's gaze followed the otter as it wound through the air. "How sweet," he said, in evident disgust. "The Mudblood's, I presume?"

Beside Severus, Hermione was trembling again, but whether in fear or anger was difficult to say. Like Severus, she seemed to be all too aware of the situation they were in; they obviously should have run when they had the chance.

Even as he thought it, another set of footfalls echoed down the corridor. Dolohov stepped to the side, out of sight.

"Ah, Mulciber… and Avery, hmm, you're not looking too well."

Severus felt his heart drop. He and Hermione had turned Mulciber and Avery in as well. And they, at least, would suspect him… it had been only days after his own escape (or release, as the Ministry had framed it) from Azkaban that they had been arrested.

In fact, it was possible that _all_ the Death Eaters suspected him. Maybe they thought that was why the Ministry had let him go - because he had turned them all in.

He glanced at Hermione, and found her casting wards across the width of the cell, a wall of them that he couldn't see but that he could feel. Her confidence, which had been so shaken by her repeated failed attempts to conjure a Patronus, seemed to have returned in full. Her expression was one of the utmost concentration, and Severus couldn't help admiring her for a moment.

But there was no time for that now. They needed a way _out._

Dolohov, Mulciber, and Avery all stepped into view then. "See what I found?" Dolohov said with relish.

Avery was, as Dolohov had remarked, not looking well. Mulciber, on the other hand, looked much the same as ever, albeit angrier.

"Snape," he spat. "You filthy traitor."

Unlike Dolohov, they did not have wands, but Mulciber seemed to have a sword, and Avery had a short knife, perhaps because he was in no shape to wield anything as heavy as a sword.

"You turned us in," Avery said, looking like he wanted to be angry but really just drawing close to Hermione's otter. "You _betrayed_ us, Severus."

"Joke's on you, now, isn't it?" Mulciber said. "Now you're trapped in a prison full of all the Death Eaters you betrayed. Well, not _all…_ I think some of them already escaped with your little Mudblood, didn't they?"

"He's got a different Mudblood now," Dolohov said, nodding at Hermione.

"Last one was prettier," Mulciber said.

"I like her Patronus," Avery said mildly, watching the otter.

Mulciber and Dolohov both glanced at him in disbelief and disgust, but Avery was clearly very unwell - feverish, perhaps, or maybe he'd been hit with a spell of some kind. Or maybe, like Severus, he had been injured before he was arrested, and his wounds, left untreated, had festered.

Or maybe Azkaban had simply broken him.

"Well, say goodbye to it," Dolohov said. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

His spell, aimed at Hermione, struck her ward and exploded across the wall of spellwork in a burst of fizzling green light. The walls on either side of the cell cracked apart; an ominous rumbling from the ceiling was the only warning they had that it was going to collapse.

"Run!" Hermione yelled, grabbing Severus by the arm and half-dragging him toward the gap in the cell wall to their right. The Death Eaters raced that way as well, but stone was falling all around them - not just in the cells but in the corridors - and dust had begun to cloud the air.

" _Confringo!_ " Hermione shouted, even as somewhere in the dusty darkness Dolohov yelled, " _Avada Kedavra!"_

Severus shoved Hermione down as the second emerald spell wheeled over them with terrifying intent. Hermione's spell went wide, and took out not the wall but another chunk of ceiling. The Killing Curse hit the wall behind them, blasting it apart and showering them with more debris.

"Go, go!" Severus yelled, pushing Hermione even as she pulled him after her. There was a Kissed body lying half-buried in stone in the cell they crawled into, but Hermione ignored it entirely, hastily yanking Azkaban's key out from under her robes and reaching through the bars to shove it into the lock. Then they were running, the otter swerving through the air around them, the sound of shouts and furious pursuit just behind.

" _Crucio!_ " Dolohov yelled, and Severus, though he dodged, didn't dodge fast enough. The curse hit him with devastating force, tearing his nerves apart, wrenching his body and mind and voice out of his own control.

" _Incendio!_ " Hermione's voice screamed from somewhere else, and Severus saw a flash of fire, heard an enraged scream. The Cruciatus Curse stopped, but even as Severus staggered gasping to his feet, another curse struck him square in the back.

For a second, he couldn't breathe. He collapsed forward, trying to gasp for air, but his lungs weren't working - there was something _in_ him -

"That's what you get for stabbing us in the back!" Mulciber snarled.

And Severus realized he hadn't been struck with a curse. It was a knife - Avery's knife, probably - which Dolohov must have spelled to fly at him.

He coughed, and tasted blood. With enormous effort, he dragged in a shivering breath, so vastly meager compared to what he actually needed that it was almost more painful than not breathing at all. Somewhere near him, he could hear Hermione's voice - _"Severus? Severus!"_ \- but he couldn't see her. His face was pressed against the floor.

Hands gripped him, and he knew they had to be hers because they were so small. She pulled him up, and he staggered with her, not really believing that he could move, but unwilling to disappoint her. He coughed again, and this time actually saw the blood spray out of his mouth, glinting like rubies in the light of the Patronus.

He gagged, then tried to breathe rather than vomit.

" _Avada -_ "

" _Oculi Acidum!"_

Severus had just a second to understand what Hermione's curse was going to do before Dolohov let out a terrific shriek.

Mulciber's voice was barely audible as he spat, "You Mudblood b-"

 _Sectumsempra!_ Severus thought, waving his wand wildly, and someone - Avery, he thought, not Mulciber as he had hoped - screamed in pain.

Then the knife in Severus's back twisted, with sudden, inconceivable pain. He couldn't scream or even breathe. He simply dropped, too heavy for Hermione to support, coughing blood out onto the floor.

He could feel his heart in a way he had never felt it before, could feel its strong pounding force in his chest turn to a spasm of desperation. He was dying, he knew. The knife wasn't in his heart, but it was in his lungs - in one of them, at least - and he wasn't going to last, not like this, not unless they could get out of this.

How, he didn't know. He couldn't even move, except to involuntarily convulse as choking coughs seized his frame.

He could see the lights of spells, could hear shouts that echoed weirdly in the dust. There was a rumbling in his ears, but he didn't know if it was the crumbling fortress or some parallel collapse in his own mind. There was stone falling, dust and chips of stone scattering everywhere, frantic flashes of red and green and a dangerous violet that he thought might have come from Hermione, all interspersed with the calming silver of her otter, steady as ever, unwavering even in the face of defeat.

Then the other lights died, and the rumbling stopped, and the silver was all he saw, soft and kind and fading.

* * *

Dumbledore found Alastor Moody lying in a pool of blood, Dementors gathered around him. One of the phoenix Patronuses swept ahead of Dumbledore, wings spread and talons extended, and the Dementors fled, leaving Moody to lie pale and lifeless behind them.

For a moment, Dumbledore feared the worst. He had already seen many Kissed that night, some of them strangers, some acquaintances, and one or two friends. He was grieved, grieved as he had only been a handful of times in his life, grieved to the point of despair. They had defeated some of their enemies, but many had escaped. They had prevented the loss of some lives, but had lost many others. Aurors and Death Eaters, prisoners and Order members alike had died tonight, and the full scale of the damage had yet to be discovered. Most of the Order was, in fact, missing, and Dumbledore was still searching for them now.

He thought of the children he had saved, and felt a moment of bitter self-doubt. He knew that it would have been wrong to leave them, and yet… the consequences of his actions were clear to see. Death. Soulless bodies that were worse than dead. Voldemort had indisputably triumphed tonight, as he had in Godric's Hollow, though on both occasions his full plans had been thwarted.

How could Dumbledore remedy this? The war had been progressing slowly for years, an inexorable conflict he had stymied again and again. But now, in these past two weeks, his control over Voldemort's progress had been shattered, and his allies were paying the price.

Where had he gone wrong? Had this end been inevitable, always?

He suspected, as Moody did, as many in the Order probably did, that the so-called Peverells, Severus Snape's "uncle," and that startling force of nature Hermione Granger were all from the future – though how they might have circumvented the laws of time-travel, he did not yet know. Their very presence suggested that the future must be worse than this – infinitely worse – to justify their taking such an astronomical risk. Did they lose the war? He could only assume so. Had he himself played a role in their return? If so, why would they not confide in him now? If not, what had been his fate in their intolerable future?

The questions had weighed on him, tonight more than ever. Had they changed the fate of the world for the better? Or had their presence here wrought ruin beyond what they had intended? Had all of those who died or were Kissed tonight suffered the same fate in their timeline? Had they averted a worse tragedy, or condemned innocents to a doom they should never have suffered?

All of this darkened Dumbledore's thoughts as he knelt beside his friend, detecting both the stirrings of life and of a soul. With haste, he cast the charms that would heal Alastor's head wound, at least until a qualified Healer could tend to him. That Alastor was alive was a small miracle; those who had fought with him had been less lucky.

There were two Aurors dead, a man and a woman, Linus Williamson and Cornelia Greengrass. Dumbledore had taught them both.

The third Auror had suffered a worse fate. Dumbledore could feel the void within him, and the sight of his empty eyes gazing out from beneath a mane of faded hair sent a chill through him, though he had seen many such eyes tonight.

Scrimgeour, Dumbledore recognized. Rufus Scrimgeour. Hardly a friend, but a worthy Auror, by all accounts.

And now, here he slumped, wasted and empty. Or, rather, here his body slumped. Where Scrimgeour himself was, Dumbledore did not care to contemplate.

* * *

Severus glided over heaps of cracked stone and dust, pausing every now and then to check a corpse for a pulse, or a body for a soul. Thus far he had found no one living – no one whole. The fortress of Azkaban had suffered greatly in the attack, and most of the cells were open and empty now, though whether through intent or accident was impossible to say. Severus hoped most of the prisoners had escaped the Dementors, and yet he was beginning to wonder, too, how many violent prisoners – aside from the Death Eaters – might have taken this opportunity to escape. Had this battle released Wizarding Britain's most dangerous criminals back into the world?

He had always been frustrated with the Dumbledore of his world for not doing more to prevent the Dark Lord from releasing the Death Eaters in the year following his return to physical form. Now he saw clearly why Dumbledore had not wanted the Order involved; he could not help wondering why this younger Dumbledore had not foreseen the same consequences. Why he himself had not foreseen them.

The Dementors of his world had not gone without their victims during the war. Once they had abandoned the Ministry, they had roamed freely, feeding on Muggles, and, yes, occasionally Kissing them. There had been nothing the Order could do to stop them – nothing Severus could do, even after he had become the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. Severus thought it likely that many more had suffered the Kiss in his world than had suffered it here, tonight, and yet…

These were wizards.

It should not have made a difference to him, yet it did. Not because he thought wizards were more deserving of life and soul, but because there were so few of them. The marriage law had, after all, passed for a reason, even if he found the concept hideous. How much more difficult would it be now to convince the Wizengamot to revoke the law? Most of those who had been Kissed tonight were prisoners, of course, but Severus had found dead Aurors and Order members as well.

Their population had suffered a horrific blow tonight, just as it had during the battle in Godric's Hollow. No such battles had taken place in Severus's world, and though the cumulative total of Voldemort's victims had vastly exceeded these numbers before his ultimate defeat, the fact that they had sustained such heavy losses twice in a matter of as many weeks was devastating.

To the world, to the country, to these people, who were the alternate selves of people he knew. He had hoped that his presence here might improve this world, but it was difficult to feel as though he had done anything but ruin it in a different way.

Was it just inevitable? That war would destroy them all? Was there no escape from this, no alternate path that could see them all through safely, well and whole and happy?

If he started again in yet another world, could he find a better way? Or did each course lead inescapably to suffering and horror?

Severus was not naïve. He understood that the world was a dark, hideous, ruinous place. He did not believe in happy endings, or in endings at all – for as long as wizards were alive, for as long as humans were alive, there would be devastation and despair. But surely, _surely,_ there was a better way? Some way to excise the Dark Lord and his influence from the world with surgical precision, to leave all else unharmed?

There was of course the possibility of traveling deeper into the past of another world and preventing Tom Marvolo Riddle's conception altogether, but would that really solve the problem? Or would another Dark Lord simply arise in his place, motivated by the same social and political tides, yet perhaps unhindered by Riddle's psychosis and temperament – perhaps so powerful and so appealing that Wizarding Britain would embrace him or her with open arms?

Severus could imagine a thousand different futures, all built on one small act, and knew there were millions more he could not imagine or predict, each terrible in its own way, each full of inevitable tragedy.

He had been playing god, but the web of human fate was vastly out of his control.

And yet, he _wanted_ to control it. He wanted to intervene here, there, everywhere, to fix _everything._ He knew Potter, Miss Weasley, and Miss Granger felt the same. It was why they had stayed here, why that had committed themselves to this disastrous course. Knowing what they knew, they could not choose _not_ to act. It was wrong.

But this – Azkaban in ruins, dozens Kissed or dead – this was wrong, too.

There had to be a way to get it _right._

Severus recognized, as the frustration gnawed at the edges of his mind, that he could easily be driven mad by such thoughts. That a man could spend his life trying and trying and trying, in world after world after world, never succeeding, always losing, even when victory had supposedly been achieved. How long would it be before the people of those worlds ceased to have meaning as individuals? How long before he really _was_ playing god, manipulating the people he had once cared about as incarnation after incarnation of their alternate selves died, pawns in a game they didn't know he was playing?

Because it would be a game, then. How to win, without losing a single piece? Each unsuccessful attempt discarded into the wasteland of his memory as he abandoned those worlds for new ones… Would he even be human, then? Would he even grieve, or feel remorse? Or would his emotions dull into the frustration of a player who loses one game but is determined to play another – or worse, would he learn to enjoy the game, to thrill at the challenge, to view every loss and tragedy as an opportunity to improve his own skills and chances the next time around?

That he was capable of imagining such a future for himself disturbed him. He felt a sudden urge to find his younger self, to look into his face and remember that he was indeed an individual, irreplaceable and precious, and that no other Severus Snape could or would be like him, not in an infinity of worlds.

Instead, he found James Potter, sitting at the edge of ruin, the cold night air gusting in around him, with neither a Patronus nor a Dementor in sight.

Severus felt a weight settle in his chest that had nothing to do with Potter himself, and everything to do with the scene around him, the gaping tear in the fortress wall, the fog clinging to the edges of the broken stone, the expression of utter emptiness on the boy's face. Something terrible had happened here.

And as for Potter… Had he been Kissed?

No. Severus could see the boy's gaze sweeping aimlessly through the night, as if searching for something. A man without a soul could not search. And yet some great despair had clearly fallen over him.

Severus's feeling of disquiet grew.

"Potter," he said sharply.

James looked at him, to his relief. The boy was not so far gone that he could not hear and respond. At the sight of Severus, something flickered briefly in his eyes, both fear and distaste. Then the emptiness fell over him again.

"She's gone," he said.

There was no need to ask who. It was obvious, in every line of Potter's face.

"What do you mean, _gone?_ " Severus asked, trying to repress the feeling inside him, which was both more and less intense than he would have expected.

James looked out into the fog. "I think they took her."

Severus felt a moment's relief that Lily had not been Kissed, then horror as he considered what fate might await her, then grim determination. He would find her – of course he would find her.

He would have expected Potter to feel the same as he did, or even more, that he would be burning to tear the world apart to get to her. But here the boy sat, motionless and bereft of everything, seemingly even the will to feel.

"Where are the Dementors?" Severus asked.

"A hummingbird came and drove them off," Potter said indifferently. "For a little while, anyway."

Severus felt a strange pang of unease that the only thing standing between James Potter and a Dementor's Kiss had apparently been one of Alice Longbottom's seriously overtaxed hummingbirds. "And your own Patronus?"

Potter pointed out into the fog. "I asked it where Lily was, and it galloped away. I couldn't follow it. I don't have a broom." He looked close to tears suddenly. "And Padfoot - I think they have Padfoot, too."

Severus grimaced. So the Death Eaters had taken hostages. Or, if not hostages, then victims. Tonight had not gone as Voldemort had planned, but it had gone more in his favor than in his enemies', and Severus suspected Voldemort would consider this a triumph. He would want to celebrate.

"Come on, Potter," Severus said. "The battle's over. We need to locate the others and discuss our next move –"

"What for? They're dead, aren't they?" Potter said, still with that sheen of tears in his eyes.

"I think it is likely they will be alive for at least a few more hours," Severus said. "Perhaps more, if the Dark Lord believes they could be useful."

Potter looked at him like he wasn't sure whether Severus was trying to be cruel or helpful.

"You are wasting time," Severus pointed out. "Get up."

Potter was finally starting to get angry, and looked very much like his son often had in Severus's class, resentful and hateful. Severus was impatient. Potter's weakness was perhaps understandable, but every second counted, something the boy seemed incapable of getting through his unpleasant little skull.

" _Now,_ Potter."

"What do you _care,_ Snape?"

It was the first time Potter had openly acknowledged what Severus knew he knew: that he was an older version of the boy Potter and his friends had tormented. It was a strange moment, and Potter almost seemed to regret it; Severus eyed him coolly, undisturbed by his adolescent attitude.

"In case it had escaped your notice, we are allies," Severus said. "Distasteful though we both undoubtedly find it."

It was satisfying to see the flicker of fear in Potter's eyes, to know that the boy recognized, however unwillingly, that Severus was now far more dangerous than the skinny, lonely child he had once been.

"I don't trust you," Potter said defiantly.

Severus rolled his eyes. "I neither expect nor desire your trust, Potter. I need you to _get up._ Or would you like me to explain to your wife and worthless friend that you sat here pitying yourself while they suffered unimaginable agony?"

Potter's anger was heading toward full-blown fury now, and Severus cut it off before Potter could do something idiotic. "I suggest you save your tantrum for the fight ahead. The Death Eaters are far more deserving of your ire than I am."

Potter visibly struggled with the urge to say something nasty (perhaps one of Severus's own hexes), but finally reigned himself in and stood up.

"Come," Severus said, ignoring the old instinct not to turn his back on Potter and wheeling away to resume his search of the fortress. Several corridors, cells, and stairwells had been demolished in the fighting, and Severus's memory of the prison's layout was somewhat thwarted by the detours that necessitated. Slowly, he and Potter picked their way through the rubble, making note of the prisoners who had been Kissed, but finding a distressing lack of other Order members. It wasn't until they had searched another five blocks of cells that Severus held up his hand to stop them both.

Ahead, they could hear scraping, cracking, and something that might have been sobbing.

"Stay," Severus ordered.

He strode forward gracefully, while Potter, predictably ignoring him, followed somewhat less quietly behind. Whoever was the source of the noise must have heard them coming, for the scraping and cracking stopped suddenly.

"Do not be alarmed," Severus said. He could see the light of a Patronus ahead, and was therefore reasonably certain he was not approaching an enemy.

"Professor Snape?"

It was Hermione Granger, and he knew even before he got a decent look at her that she was distressed – it was only in such moments that she reverted to that formal (outdated) mode of address. Thank Merlin it was Potter and not some other Order member by his side to hear it.

"Yes, it is I," he said, sweeping forward. The girl was covered in dust and blood, and stood before a section of collapsed stone, which Severus deduced at once she had been trying to move.

"You have to move it," she said at once, in a wavering voice. "Please. Severus is on the other side, he's bleeding…"

Potter looked like he was about to make some remark, but Severus forestalled any conflict by waving his wand and watching the rubble slowly, carefully begin to rearrange itself, supporting the stone above it so as not to cause further damage.

Miss Granger immediately rushed forward, only to stop, gasping, then quickly coughing in the dust.

"He was here," she said, still coughing, but also perhaps crying. "The blood…"

There was a very dusty bloodstain on the floor, smeared as if the body it had bled from had been dragged away. A second otter Patronus hovered above it. Anguish seized Granger's face.

"There were D-Death Eaters," she choked out. "We dueled them, but one of them threw a knife into Severus's back. I tried to keep dueling - Dolohov and Avery were down - they're over there - but Mulciber - he took Dolohov's wand and brought down the whole ceiling - and I c-couldn't -"

Severus felt a sinking feeling in his chest, which was inexplicably and yet perhaps appropriately worse than what he had felt when Potter had told him about Lily.

"They took him!" Miss Granger cried. "I was stuck on the other side and they _took_ him!" Her tear-filled eyes searched his face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –"

"It was not your fault," Severus said automatically.

"They took Lily, too," Potter interrupted, in a distinctly accusatory tone. "Wasn't she supposed to be with you?"

Granger's tears began to fall. "She was - oh, James, I'm so sorry - she was, but then Volde- I mean, You-Know-Who, he was there, and he - he took her. We couldn't stop him. We tried!"

"You failed," Potter said, then abruptly he aimed his wand at a chunk of rock and blasted it apart. "We all failed! How did this happen?"

"We have to find them, we have to go after them!" Granger cried.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Potter snapped.

Severus was impatient with both of them, with Granger's tears, with Potter's accusations. "When it became apparent that many of the Death Eaters had escaped, I concealed one of Miss Granger's coins in Bellatrix Lestrange's pocket and allowed her to flee. Assuming Miss Granger's spell works – which I am certain it does – we can locate Bellatrix, and presumably the other Death Eaters and their victims."

Miss Granger's breath audibly caught in her throat. Then she launched herself at him, mess of dust and blood that she was, and threw her arms around him, sobbing.

"Miss Granger!" he said sharply, remembering with a pang how she had hugged him at his birthday party.

"We have to go, we have to go!" she exclaimed, springing away from him and wiping tears away from her filthy face. "The spell – I need the parchment for the spell –"

Though Severus knew time was pressing, he also knew that the situation here needed to be resolved first. "We need to assemble the Order, Miss Granger. Where are the prisoners you rescued? Or were you unable to rescue anyone?"

"No, we were, we were, but they all ran away! When V- when You-Know-Who showed up, they all ran! Lily sent her Patronus after them, but I don't know where they went. Severus and I were separated from them…"

"Then we need to find them," Severus said. "And the others, the rest of the Order -"

"But Lily -" Potter began.

"At present we believe there are three hostages," Severus said, rounding on him. "What if we are mistaken, and there are fewer, or more? What if, having rashly acted on unverified assumptions, we inadvertently condemn others to torment and death because we did not confirm their safety beforehand? You have obviously deduced that we are not from your own time. Perhaps it would interest you to know that in our timeline, your precious Padfoot died because your son engaged in just such a reckless endeavor. And forgive me, Potter, but do you not think assembling our allies prior to embarking on a rescue mission would be wise? Or did you intend for the three of us to face every escaped Death Eater and the Dark Lord himself without assistance?"

Potter grimaced at him, but didn't argue.

"Communication is essential at this juncture," Severus said. "As such, Miss Granger, may I suggest we make use of your coin?"


	60. Chapter 60

60

Those few Order members who had managed to come to the meeting were huddled around the table in Hermione's tent, anxious but subdued. Gathering the full Order had been impossible; dealing with the immediate aftermath of the battle in Azkaban would take hours, perhaps days, and there were still so many missing and unaccounted for that Hermione had already been forced to start her tracking spell over twice because she kept pausing to wipe away tears. Most of the surviving Order members were helping the surviving Aurors transport the wounded to Saint Mungo's and the captured Death Eaters to Ministry holding cells. Hermione didn't think anyone had even begun to count the dead – or the Kissed. Only Alice Longbottom had joined Hermione, Snape, and James to plan the rescue mission.

Harry should have been there, and Ginny, but they had last been seen flying away from the roof during the fight, and hadn't been seen since. Hermione was trying hard to convince herself that they were just hunting down some fleeing Death Eater, and not captured like Lily and Sirius, like Severus…

Hermione's hand shook, and Snape said sharply, "Every second counts, Miss Granger."

She knew that. She did. Her weakness in this moment was inexcusable. Her friends were in mortal danger, probably suffering torture or death at this very instant, and she couldn't stop _crying_ about it. She had already established that Lily's and Severus's coins had been destroyed – probably discovered when they were captured and, presumably, searched. Harry's and Ginny's coins, on the other hand, were both in the vicinity of Azkaban – though whether Harry and Ginny were still alive and in possession of those coins was unclear.

She just had one coin left to check – Snape's, hopefully still concealed within Bellatrix Lestrange's robes.

Tightening her grip on her wand, Hermione finished the spell.

She knew at once that something wasn't right. The map spread out before her was large, detailed, exactly what they would need to track the exact location of Bellatrix Lestrange, but rather than revealing a pinpoint location, the spell had resulted in a sort of vague scarlet haze over the entirety of Scotland.

"What's wrong?" James asked.

Hermione's hand shook again, but this time it was not from distress. Her spell was incomplete, her magic fighting against a powerful enchantment.

Snape answered for her: "The coin has passed within their wards."

"But shouldn't we still be able to track it? If Voldemort could get into the church because Peter was there –"

"Pettigrew was inside the wards, and called the other Death Eaters in," Hermione said. "If Bellatrix were to send us a message with the coin, then yes, of course we could get her location, but that's not likel-"

"WELL THEN WHAT WAS THE BLOODY POINT?"

Hermione shot him an impatient, anxious look. "I _can_ get through," she said. "It will just take _time._ "

"We don't have time!"

"Would you leave her alone, James?" Alice snapped.

"THEY HAVE MY WIFE! AND MY BEST MATE!"

"And they have her husband, and probably _her_ best mate!" Alice shot back. "Leave her alone so she can figure it out!"

Swearing loudly, James strode away, ignoring Fiend as she hissed at him. Hermione felt an odd twinge in her stomach at the reminder that Severus was her husband, and hoped she wasn't blushing as she gave Alice a grateful look. Alice was too busy glaring at James to notice.

Snape leaned close and said, "They'll have made it Unplottable –"

"– and they'll probably have Dark Mark wards, I know," Hermione said, turning back to the parchment, her own coin, and the map. She was trying hard not to remember that she had kissed this man's younger self less than an hour ago.

Snape's lips thinned, but he said nothing else, watching as she began tweaking the spell matrix she had created to track their coins. Snape's coin was a blur in the matrix, and her Arithmantic training made her scowl at the indefinite lines in disapproval. Without the wards in front of her, she had no way of knowing which exact wards she needed to dismantle. It would be trial and error from here; she would have to remotely modify the coin's tracking spell until the scarlet haze on the map began to narrow.

The Unplottable Charm, though probably the most powerful of the wards Riddle might have cast, was also the broadest, and therefore the easiest to circumvent. After all, though Hogwarts was Unplottable, the Marauders had managed to make a map of the castle itself. Hermione could follow a similar strategy here – adding a spell to the coins that would allow their immediate surroundings, within the wards, to be mapped out. Matching those surroundings to a location somewhere in Scotland would be time-consuming, of course, but unless they were in the middle of some nondescript field or forest, she should be able to derive enough information from the spell to extrapolate a general location.

 _And if they're dead already?_

Hermione steadied herself, pushing the thought away, refusing to acknowledge it. Unrolling a blank piece of parchment, she cast her Mapping Charm and watched as dark lines began to unfold across the parchment, reminding her reassuringly of the Marauder's Map.

For the first few seconds, it was difficult to tell what she was seeing. Then a ridge took form, rising here and there to what might have been peaks (or might only have been protruding boulders – Hermione had no idea of the distances involved). In the very center, where the coin must be, was a cluster of dark lines that might have represented a cave.

She stifled a surge of despair as she contemplated matching this indefinite ridgeline to an actual map.

"They're in the mountains," Alice said, tugging the map, still glowing with a red haze, toward her, folding it at the border between England and Scotland so she could get a better look at the north.

"But which mountains?" To Hermione, the series of peaks looked very much alike, and she wasn't even completely certain they _were_ peaks – at least not named ones. She doubted Riddle's wards would have covered an area any larger than the Hogwarts grounds, and the area might in fact be much smaller. It was difficult to imagine there would be too many peaks contained within those bounds.

"Maybe –"

A sudden series of cracks brought them all to their feet, wands raised and pointed at the entrance to the tent. They heard several crunching footsteps in the snow, then the tent flap was pulled wide to reveal Ginny, Harry, and, to everyone's shock, Sirius.

"Padfoot!" James exclaimed.

Sirius looked the worse for wear, even after only a few days in Azkaban. He embraced James quickly, glancing around at the rest of the tent's occupants. "They told us Voldemort took Lily," he said, looking back at James in concern.

"And Snape," Alice said.

Harry's gaze met Hermione's, and she saw her own terror flash over his face. Of course, it would be worse for him – Lily was his mother, the mother they were supposed to be saving.

James was still looking at Sirius. "Where've you been?"

"We were helping Cousin Cissy," Sirius said, scowling. "Turns out she's pregnant."

It took Hermione a half-second to realize he was talking about Narcissa Malfoy. Images of a baby Draco Malfoy popped involuntarily into her head. She could see by Harry's expression that he'd had the same reaction.

It was Snape who said, "Then why was she in Azkaban?"

"Apparently her petitions for release got denied. The Aurors wouldn't even talk to her."

"You mean Crouch wouldn't," Alice said.

"Where is she now?" Snape asked.

"With Regulus," Sirius said. "He's switched sides, supposedly."

"Where?" Snape asked. "If the Dark Lord has Summoned him, he might know where they are."

Harry, Ginny, and Sirius exchanged a quick look.

"Er," Ginny said, "he's probably halfway to France by now."

"Narcissa wanted to leave the country," Harry explained. "And seeing how she's pregnant –"

"– and the Aurors might just hand her back to the Dementors –"

"– we let her go," Harry finished sheepishly.

There was a disappointed silence.

Ginny looked around the tent. "Where's Dobby when you need him?"

"At Azkaban, assisting with the wounded," Snape said. "His ability to Apparate within the wards has been essential in transporting the most critically injured to St. Mungo's. He has been reminded to listen for Lily and Severus, in the event that they are able to summon him, and to alert us immediately if that occurs. Lily in particular was instructed to call him if in danger, but she may be unconscious, or Silenced, or otherwise unable to do so at this point. That may change, however, and sending Dobby after Regulus would only delay him if he is called. I suggest we send Regulus a message through the coins instead –"

"I can't send one just to him," Hermione said. "Because his coin was never linked to the parchment. I'd have to send the message to everyone –"

"– and the coin with Lestrange would burn," Alice said, with a muttered, " _Damn._ "

"The coin with Lestrange?" Ginny asked.

"Prince stuck one in her pocket," Alice said. "So we could track her."

"Only we can't track her," James snapped. "Because she's inside the Death Eaters' bloody wards!"

Ginny had caught sight of the map. "Is that what that hazy bit is?"

"Yes," Hermione said, sitting down again. "I did manage to get a map of the immediate vicinity…"

They all crowded around the table again, comparing the sketchily inked out map to the landscape beneath the frustrating red haze.

"Maybe there –"

"Or that – no, damn, there's a river there."

"What about –"

"Definitely not that. What's the scale on this, anyway?" Every face turned to Hermione for an answer.

"I don't know!" she said helplessly. "The spell isn't that specific – it's just whatever's within the wards."

They all looked back at the sketch.

"I think we can rule out most of this area," Snape said, circling a section of the Highlands with his finger. "The Dark Lord would not have wished to draw too near to Hogwarts."

"He wouldn't be too near towns, either, I bet."

"Which Death Eaters live in Scotland? Maybe he's staying with one of them -"

"That's not a house in the sketch, that's a cave."

"Well, do we know of any caves?"

"The Dark Lord would not have used a known cave, and, in any case, he could just as easily have blasted apart the mountainside."

"Well, we know it's probably nowhere near Muggles."

"What if we use a smaller map?" Sirius suggested. "Or cut this one into pieces? Even if it's Unplottable, the haze might be stronger on the map pieces that are closer to the actual location. If the map piece doesn't even have the location on it, the spell's not likely to light up as much, is it?"

Hermione glanced at Snape, who looked thoughtful. "Unplottable spells vary in intensity and specificity," he said. "It may be worth an attempt."

Alice slid her wand across the upper right-hand corner of the map, slicing off the Isles of Shetland.

They stopped glowing at once.

"Yes!" James and Harry both cheered at once, while Ginny grinned in a fierce way.

"Brilliant, Sirius," Alice said.

"Try again," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "The Orkneys –"

Quickly, Alice cut off first the Orkneys, then the Outer Hebrides, then the Inner Hebrides. They all held their breath as one after the other of the map fragments went dark.

When Alice started on the mainland, Hermione had to resist the urge bounce up and down on her heels. Coastline after coastline got stripped away, then the entire south, before Alice finally tried to cut off part of the east and ended up with two glowing sections of map.

"Is that it? Right where you cut?"

"Not necessarily," Alice said. "We don't know how narrow it'll let us get – let's try the north –"

She cut off another section of map, which stopped glowing, then the west, which stopped as well.

"All right, so it's in the east," Alice said.

"The Cairngorms, maybe?"

"Can you narrow it down any more?"

Alice tried cutting around the edges of the two glowing pieces she had, but each piece she severed continued to glow.

"I think that's as close as we're going to get."

They all surveyed the significantly smaller, but still intimidatingly large sections of map they were going to have to cover. Hermione felt a horrible sinking sensation. How could they ever hope to search that whole area in time to save Severus and Lily?

"What about the other wards?" James asked. "Can't you get through them, give us a better location?"

"I can try," Hermione said. "It'll take time, though – maybe a lot of time – there are thousands of wards they could have used."

Another grim silence followed her words.

"Very well," Snape said finally. "We shall begin searching the area manually – on broomstick. Miss Granger, if you manage to isolate the exact location, you will communicate that to us at once. I shall need another coin –"

"I have a few extra," Hermione said, feeling wretched. "Here, let me link you to the parchment…"

She tried to suppress the tears stinging her eyes as she handed him a new coin. She knew it wasn't her fault that Voldemort's wards were blocking her tracking spell, but she felt useless, and the disappointment in the others' faces was seeping into her.

Snape, perhaps sensing this, gripped her hand as she held out the coin. It wasn't like him to offer reassurance, but he said, "Do not give up."

She nodded, sniffling a little despite her best efforts.

"How many brooms do we have?" Ginny asked. "We brought three back with us – what about you two?"

"And does anyone have a spare wand? I just have Bellatrix's," Sirius said in disgust. "And it doesn't really work."

Hermione thought of the spare wands Ron had stolen from the Snatchers during the war, but those were long gone. When no one else miraculously pulled a second wand out of their robes, Sirius's face fell.

"We have brooms," Snape said. They had, after all, flown past Azkaban's wards before they could Apparate here. "But no wands to spare."

"Guess I'll just make do," Sirius said, grimacing.

"Or," James said, "maybe you could switch wands with Harry. Since you're, er, probably a better flyer."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Hermione would have laughed at the way Harry's eyebrows shot up into his hair. Ginny, despite the circumstances, did grin.

"I have a better suggestion," Snape said, and Hermione knew from the way he said it that James and Sirius weren't going to like it. "Regulus remains our best chance of finding the Dark Lord's location. As you, Black, are not only lacking a proper wand, but are also the only one among us with a chance of locating your brother, I think you would be more useful elsewhere."

"How am I supposed to find him?" Sirius asked, clearly resistant.

Snape's expression settled into his familiar you-utter-dunderhead look. "Dobby may be unavailable to us, but I believe your house-elf is more than capable of finding your brother."

Sirius's expression darkened. "He's not _my_ house-elf –"

"He belongs to your family."

"He doesn't even answer when I call him! Look! _Kreacher!_ "

In the silence that followed, Hermione found herself wondering uneasily how Sirius had known Kreacher wouldn't answer him. She couldn't imagine any noble reason he would have tried to summon him before.

Snape was undeterred. "Then you shall simply have to go find him."

Sirius looked furious. James was evidently torn. It was Harry who said, "Sirius, he's right. It could take us days to search this area, and if Hermione can't break through the wards –"

"All right, all right!" Sirius said. "I'll do it." He glared at Snape. "You'd better be right, Prince."

"He usually is," Harry said.

"I doubt that," James said.

Snape shot him a sharp look, but the sight of Harry rolling his eyes at James seemed to convince him no response was necessary.

"Shall we?" Alice asked.

Harry, Ginny, and Snape cast Hermione a few last looks and "good lucks" before following the other three through the tent flap and out into the night.

Wiping away her tears, Hermione turned back to the map and the black sketch of the cave where Severus and Lily had been taken.

* * *

Barty Crouch, Jr. awoke in a haze of pain and confused whisperings, the burn of some healing potion slicing across his back like a knife.

"It's not working –"

"Nothing's working, I've never seen this spell –"

"I have." That voice was Lucius's, unmistakable even with the hoarse echo of Azkaban. "Snape used it against me when I captured him –"

"When he turned you over to the Aurors, you mean –"

"I thought I heard Bella yelling about Snape after it happened, it must be the same curse –"

"That wasn't Snape, it must've been his father –"

"His father's a Muggle, and anyway, he's dead –"

"An uncle, then, what does it matter? It's the same curse –"

"But how do we _fix_ it? We're almost out of Blood Replenisher."

"Allow me."

Barty felt a cold thrill as the Dark Lord's voice seemed to slide into him through his gaping wound. In his half-conscious state, he felt as though the voice had entered his bloodstream, awakening and terrifying him.

 _"Cauterizo!"_

Barty screamed, his voice responding even before his mind consciously understood what was happening. Blazing pain seared across his back, fusing his flesh in unrelenting, red-hot agony. When the spell finally ended, he still felt as though he was on fire; what was worse, he could smell his own burning flesh. He choked and gasped, then felt the Dark Lord's cool fingers touch the back of his neck, both soothing and frightening.

"There, now, is that better, Barty?"

"Yes, my lord," Barty forced out, still gasping against the pain.

"Good." There was a dangerous edge to the Dark Lord's voice that, even in his compromised state, Barty could not miss. "I wish to speak with you… alone."

He heard the whisper of robes as the other Death Eaters left him there, their footsteps echoing against what must have been the walls of the cave.

"You rescued many of my servants tonight," the Dark Lord said.

Barty, shaking beneath the Dark Lord's cold fingers and the ever-increasing waves of pain, was suddenly aware that the Dark Lord's touch was meant to hold him in place, face down on a makeshift cot, with his naked, mutilated back exposed. He resisted the shivers that fought to break out of him. "Yes, my lord."

"And yet Bellatrix tells me you Obliviated her."

Barty, so vividly aware of danger a moment before, could not stop himself from relaxing in sudden relief. "I did not Obliviate Bella."

"No? Why would she invent such a tale?"

"She was torturing her cousin, Sirius Black," Barty said. "I left her – there were still Death Eaters to free, and she was wasting time – and when next I saw her, she had been Obliviated and Disarmed. She believed I was responsible… presumably because I was the last person she remembered, prior to the Memory Charm."

"Or perhaps because she killed your mother."

"I would not seek revenge against your loyal servant," Barty said at once.

He felt the pressure of Legilimency against his weary consciousness, and allowed the Dark Lord to enter his mind. Snippets of his conversation with Bella outside Sirius Black's cell, and of his subsequent efforts to free the Dark Lord's servants, flashed through his mind.

"Yes," the Dark Lord said. "I see that you are innocent. Bella should not have accused you without proof."

Barty could not wholly suppress his satisfied certainty that Bellatrix would soon be suffering.

"But how could Sirius Black have Obliviated Bellatrix? He did not have a wand." The Dark Lord's footfalls, almost too quiet to hear, moved away from Barty's prone form. "And the Dementors warned me of treachery, as I was leaving their fortress. Treachery and divided loyalties… loyalties to family…"

Barty struggled to remain conscious, the pain eating away at him, the Dark Lord's musings washing over him in echoing confusion.

"Lucius was unable to recover his wife… or did he aid her in her escape? Snape is a traitor, and some member of his family was present during the raid, by all accounts… but who? He told me his family was dead, and I am certain he was not lying… But then, I was certain he would not betray me… Yet I already knew of his treachery before tonight, and required no further warning. The Dementors knew this. They would not have warned me about him. There must be another traitor… One of the Lestrange brothers, perhaps? Was Bellatrix betrayed by her own family? And where is Regulus?"

Barty could not reply. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, though he knew doing so could be a deadly mistake in the Dark Lord's presence.

Yet the Dark Lord's thoughts were otherwise occupied. "But of course," he murmured, "there may be no need to wonder… I have one traitor here already, and the woman he betrayed me for…"

Against his every effort, Barty slid into a dream. Dementors glided past him, their icy power so cold that his spine seemed to freeze within him. He fell into a swirling fog, pierced here and there by silver Patronuses that he both loathed and longed for. In the distance, he could hear screams – from Azkaban, he thought at first, before he remembered he was not in Azkaban, he was in the cave, and there were no Dementors or Patronuses here, no fog or ice. There were only screams.


	61. Chapter 61

61

Lily woke suddenly, wrenched from a nightmare about Dementors into a nightmare of utter agony. Her every nerve ending seemed to be screaming; a distant shriek echoed frighteningly around her, full of shadow and sharp fear and horror. She kicked out wildly, gripping blindly around her for something to make the pain stop, to shield herself, to escape, to die.

Then it lifted, and she lay panting and shaking uncontrollably, her throat sore from screaming, the last echoes of her cries still chasing each other across the cavern walls. Her fingers were bleeding from her efforts to grip the rough stone beneath her; she could feel bruises on her knees. And the shadows around her were still there, moving, laughing, or muttering angrily.

"Dob–" she tried to whisper, but her tongue suddenly wrapped around itself, twisted at a choking angle against the back of her throat. She gagged, and the laughter around her echoed again.

"You tried that before," a cool voice informed her. "Using my house-elf against me… certainly a trick worthy of a Mudblood."

Lily was beginning to remember. This was not the first time she had woken up to the Cruciatus Curse, nor the first time she had tried desperately to call Dobby's name. How long had she been here? It felt like years, but surely it had only been hours? They hadn't fed her, and she wasn't hungry…

Or had they fed her, and she had just forgotten?

"My dear brother-in-law is erecting wards against house-elves as we speak," Lucius Malfoy continued. "No one is coming to rescue you, Mudblood."

Lily shivered. She didn't want them to see that she was afraid, but her body seemed out of her own control, trembling and sweating, her breathing coming in short bursts. She believed him: who could rescue her here? She didn't know where she was, but she was sure it was warded, and she vaguely remembered them taking her coin. And even if the Order did locate her, how could they rescue her? You-Know-Who himself was here.

She was afraid to look around and see if he was in this cavern with her, but the idea of not knowing was worse. Turning her head to the side, she glanced around, taking in the ragged robed figures lounging around the cave, some of them eating, some of them drinking potions, some of them testing out new wands from a pile laid out on velvet on a flat rock.

They were still recovering from the attack on Azkaban – from their escape. She counted at least seven Death Eaters in the cavern with her, and she could hear a distant murmur, and see a distant light flickering on the cavern walls, that convinced her there were more Death Eaters beyond this cave. Lily wondered how many had escaped. It was obvious the Order's efforts had been in vain. You-Know-Who had his army again.

You-Know-Who himself wasn't there with her. Among those she could see, Lucius Malfoy seemed to be in charge, though he looked haggard, his cheeks unshaven and dirty, his hand shaking slightly around his wand (or, more probably, someone else's). Disgust and weariness lined his face, and he looked much older than he had when she had been a first year, and he Head Boy.

One of the other Death Eaters, one of the Lestrange brothers, she thought, stepped away from the wand pile with three in his hands.

"Can't decide," he said, showing them to Malfoy. "Think I'd better test 'em out."

Lily knew immediately what he intended, and jerked away. Lestrange laughed.

"Skittish, aren't you? _Crucio!_ "

Lily screamed and screamed, feeling like her flesh and bones and blood had all vanished, leaving only nerves, tormented nerves, as she writhed and sobbed on the floor. Then it ended, and Lestrange said casually, "Not sure about that one. Let's try another, shall we?"

Lily barely had time to breathe before it started again, the curse jerking her across the stone floor like a worm dying in the sun. When it ended, she couldn't catch her breath, and lay there wheezing and crying, refusing to beg, but not strong enough not to sob pitifully as Lestrange pulled out his last choice. "One more," he said cheerfully.

 _Just one more,_ she thought. _I can survive one more._

But it wouldn't be only one, and she knew that. They would keep torturing her until she died.

 _Just let me die now,_ she thought. _Just let me –_

"But what's this?" Lestrange said, and his voice had changed, full both of shock and the beginnings of glee. "Why, Mrs. Potter, what has your husband been doing to you?"

She shivered at his tone, remembering in a flash Severus's desperate warning, all those months ago. What was Lestrange talking about?

The other Death Eaters were drawing near, too, abandoning their food to stare down at her. They looked angry and surprised and disgusted.

Lestrange crouched down beside her, and she tried to flinch away, her skin crawling, her stomach twisting, but rather than assault her in any way, he gripped her hand almost gently.

Her left hand.

Where the ring on her finger was glowing.

 _Blue,_ she thought, not processing for a moment what she was seeing. _Blue for…_

"Pregnant," Lestrange said. A sickening grin spread across his face. "What do you think, Mrs. Potter? Did my curse give you just the right nudge?"

Lily fainted.

* * *

Severus choked his way into consciousness, his mouth full of liquid, his throat rebelling against the sudden intrusion. He struggled, trying to cough, but some irresistible force pressed down on his throat, and he swallowed, before retching whatever it was up again with a sour edge of bile.

"Aww, does little Sev not want his medicine?"

Severus tensed at the sound of that voice, but the spell was already forcing him to swallow again, bile and all. He coughed and tried to vomit it up again, but Bella, sitting beside him, made him swallow again and again until the torture of it made his eyes water and his legs jerk in helpless agony.

"There, there," she mocked, finally relenting. "It's just a little healing potion. Couldn't you tell? Aren't you supposed to be good at potions?"

Severus's mouth was too tainted with bile to detect the flavor of whatever potion she'd given him, but he was suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in his back, lessening with every second.

He glared at her, distrusting her, still more than half convinced he'd been poisoned.

"Oh, you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" she said, obviously guessing his thoughts. "No, the Dark Lord wants you alive, Snape… for now, at least." She flashed him a twisted grin.

He was still breathing hard, his throat aching with the memory of choking, but as Bella stopped speaking he heard a scream echoing from somewhere else in the cave – a woman's scream.

 _Lily,_ he thought, and, quite involuntarily, tried to sit up. It was then that he discovered he was tied down.

Bella had noticed his attempt to move, however, and smiled viciously. "Yes, we have your little Mudblood… well, _one_ of your little Mudbloods." Her finger stroked his left hand, where the ring was. "A different Mudblood is wearing your ring, isn't she?"

Severus had to forcibly repress the memory of kissing Hermione, and the fear that surged through him at the mention of her. Bella had said the Death Eaters only had one of them – they only had Lily.

Severus felt a strange mingling of shame and guilt and confusion at the realization that he was glad it wasn't Hermione here.

But Lily – Lily wasn't as strong as Hermione. Lily wasn't as brave. And if they were going to have any chance of escape, Lily was a far lesser ally than Hermione would have been.

But escape how? He was in a cavern, dimly lit with strange purple lights, and Lily, he judged by the echoing screams, was in another cavern nearby. But how far were they from the entrance? No doubt there would only be one, closely guarded. Bellatrix was not the only Death Eater to escape Azkaban alive. There would be others, many others perhaps. Severus was wandless, weaponless, and he could feel that his pockets had been turned inside out, even those hidden deep within his robes. The coin was gone.

Bellatrix was watching his face with hungry amusement, her fingers still stroking over his ring finger. He resisted the urge to twitch away from her, but she made his skin crawl, and the light scraping of her nails against his skin might as well have been the screeching of nails against chalkboard.

He heard another sound nearby, a soft whisper of robes, and Bella looked up immediately in both fear and pleasure.

"Leave us," a cold voice spoke.

Severus remembered, in a vivid rush of emotions, the hours he had spent on Lucius Malfoy's carpet, waiting to be brought to the Dark Lord, to be tortured and murdered. He had resigned himself to it then; what had there been to live for, anyway? But there was no resignation in the terror that seized him now, and that frightened him almost more than anything.

He could not resign himself to this. He could not accept it. He wanted to live, to get back to Hermione, to see his older self and even Hermione's Gryffindorish friends again. There were so many possibilities that had just opened to him, so many hopes he had been suppressing for years, all still fragile, all delicate, yet beginning irresistibly to awaken from those long months in Azkaban, and the longer years of despair before that. He wanted to know what it felt like to be happy, to have friends he trusted, a fierce and loving woman, a full and fulfilling life. Until the past few weeks, his future had seemed like nothing more than a long, endless winding of twisted shadow and darkness, of pain and regret and shame, and now -

"I have waited many months for this," the Dark Lord said, gazing down at him where he lay bound and defenseless.

Severus could see the terrible scarring around the Dark Lord's eyes, and realized at once why the light in the cavern was so dim, so oddly tinted. Voldemort was nearly blind.

But not so blind that he didn't see the quirk of satisfaction at the edge of Severus's mouth, the reckless smugness in his eyes.

" _Crucio!_ "

Severus jerked against the ropes, screaming aloud, conscious even in the vicious throes of his pain that his voice was echoing around him, eerie and broken at the edges. When the Dark Lord lifted the spell, he lay panting, the wound in his back throbbing anew, his limbs raw and sore where the ropes had cut into his twitching form.

"Painful, isn't it?" Voldemort asked, and Severus couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever cast the Cruciatus Curse on _him_ ; if he himself would ever dare.

"It could have been different," Voldemort continued, the disappointment in his voice a mockery of the tone Dumbledore so often used. "You need not have suffered. I was prepared to offer you everything - even the Mudblood you so foolishly desired - and yet you turned away from me. That was a mistake, Severus."

Severus's skin was crawling far worse than it had done in Bellatrix's company. How could he have once wished to join this wizard? How could he had ever been such a fool?

And to think his other self _had_ joined him, had allowed this creature to touch him, to mark him, to dominate him…

But Severus would not be dominated. Terrified though he was, anguished at the thought of losing everything he had finally been on the verge of gaining, he nonetheless glared straight into Voldemort's eyes and said, "It was you who made the mistake."

It was foolish, perhaps, to sneer at the wizard who was torturing him. But Severus remembered the absolute shock on Regulus's face when he had insulted the Dark Lord, and he felt a defiant urge to evoke that same shock in the dark wizard himself.

But Voldemort did not look shocked. He looked sharply eager, searching, as though he thought Severus had some secret to reveal. Severus felt the serpentine strike of a cold mind sinking into his, and resisted.

"What is it you are hiding from me?" Voldemort said. "What further treachery…?"

Severus felt himself balancing on the edge of a dozen thoughts, resisting the lure of the Horcruxes and the gates, but holding tightly - yet subtly, he must keep his thoughts subtle - to the knowledge that if Voldemort was searching for something, he, Severus, must find a way to use that.

But what was the Dark Lord searching for? And what could Severus give him?

"It was not you who Obliviated Bella," Voldemort said. Severus resisted every impulse of surprise. "I have performed _Priori Incantatem_ on your wand; I know it was not you."

So they had his wand. That was better, he reflected, than if his wand had been abandoned in Azkaban, hundreds of miles away.

"But you know who it was," Voldemort continued.

It was only because his mind was still gripping Severus's that Severus was able to feel the tremor of doubt in the Dark Lord's thoughts. Voldemort believed Severus had this information, but he didn't know. He was troubled.

"And if I do?" Severus said, projecting contempt into the jaws of the Dark Lord's mind.

Voldemort's face twisted, as if he had tasted something bitter. "Then you will tell me… willingly or otherwise. _Legilimens!_ "

What had before been a venomous pressure around the edges of his mind became suddenly a crushing force, so intense that Severus cried out. He had been expecting it, of course, but the pain of it, the realization of his own weakness and weariness, shook him badly, and he writhed against the ropes, trying vainly to pull away.

Fragmented thoughts were torn out of him - Hermione's otter Patronus, flickering out - Dementors everywhere - the stunning pain of the knife in his back -

Severus forced his writhing body to fall still, forced his mind to equal stillness. The Dark Lord wrenched his suddenly clear mind this way and that for a moment longer, then withdrew.

"You are trained in Occlumency," Voldemort murmured. "Lucius did say you were resourceful… A pity you have not put your talents to better use."

"Isn't that the pot calling the cauldron black?"

Voldemort's red eyes flashed. "Do you feel I have wasted my talents?" His mouth might have been curved in a smile, if the expression had not been so full of rage. "I have freed my servants, murdered your allies, and captured you and one of your Mudblood whores. The entirety of Wizarding Britain is bound to me through the marriage law…"

Severus felt his heart miss a beat. The ring! He had forgotten its power, its true power, its true purpose. If he took it off, the Aurors would know his location instantly. They would come for him.

Assuming there were any left, after the attack tonight. Assuming they would want to waste time on a mere marriage violation arrest.

His heart was beating faster, and Voldemort must have noticed the sudden energy in him, though he tried to hide it. He cleared his mind, wishing the idea away, but Voldemort, too quick this time, struck out and caught it.

Far from being alarmed, he tilted his head back in a cold, high laugh that echoed far more ominously than any screams.

"You wish to remove your ring, Severus? By all means, do so."

Severus felt a cold unease ripple through him. "The Aurors…"

"No Aurors will come." Voldemort's mouth twisted into that angry smile again. "Your location - and the location of your beloved Mudblood wife - will be transmitted to the Marriage Law Implementation Unit, who will determine whether to forward it to the Aurors - or to me." His eyes glittered redly.

Severus's unease was changing rapidly to fear. What if Hermione tried to find him by taking off the ring? What if she brought the Death Eaters straight to her?

"Shall we see what happens?" Voldemort asked, his fingers ghosting over the skin Bellatrix had caressed. This time Severus did flinch.

"It would be amusing to have both of your Mudbloods in my possession. Perhaps you could choose which will die first?"

In what he knew was a futile effort, Severus clenched his fist around the ring, willing it to stay on his finger, willing it to bind itself to his very flesh.

"Tell me about Bellatrix," Voldemort said - triumphantly now, clearly believing he had won.

"I didn't Obliviate her," Severus replied.

Impatience burned in the Dark Lord's eyes. "As I said, I am aware of that."

Severus, of course, didn't have the faintest idea who had Obliviated Bellatrix or why. He couldn't imagine why anyone, even the gentlest Order member, would choose a Memory Modification Charm rather than a lethal or at least debilitating spell.

"Maybe it was one of the Death Eaters," he said spitefully, before realizing, with a plunging sense of regret, exactly who it must have been.

The Dark Lord caught his sense of realization, and also his sense of regret. Before Severus could guard himself, Voldemort was in his mind again, a terrible crushing force that seemed to break the walls of his mind faster than he could build them.

And Severus was aware, keenly aware, that by protecting that piece of information, he was endangering Hermione (and, no doubt, Lily), and yet also aware, with equal force, that if Voldemort gained this answer from him, he was as good as dead.

But he could not withstand the pressure. He was not the Occlumens his older self had become. Fiercely, with as much terror and hatred as he could muster, he pictured -

"Wormtail?" Voldemort hissed, drawing back in astonishment.

Severus took care to let resentment and regret fill him, along with all of the fear he truly felt that his life was rapidly coming to an end.

"Wormtail is mine," Voldemort said, sharply, denying the supposed truth Severus had shown him.

Severus said nothing, letting the idea take hold.

"The Dementors claimed that the betrayal was motivated by family…"

Severus was about to tell him that Pettigrew thought of his worthless friends as family, when the Dark Lord got there himself.

"But Potter and Black _were_ his family," he said, pacing away from Severus. "He referred to them as such the first time I captured him, I am sure of it."

Back and forth he paced, his robes casting slow black shadows on the violet-lit walls of the cave.

"And Bellatrix was torturing Black… his friend… his brother, in his eyes… but would Black have forgiven him? Yet perhaps Black does not know all that Wormtail has done… Perhaps I shall have to enlighten him…"

Severus held his breath, willing himself to make no sound, to draw no notice. If the Dark Lord would only go after Pettigrew - _before_ killing Severus, _before_ killing Lily - if he would only give Severus a few more hours, even a few more minutes to live, to think, to escape -

Voldemort wheeled on him suddenly, red eyes glinting. "But how do you know this?"

Severus was prepared for this. "I saw them, on broomstick…"

It was no lie. He had seen Black and Potter, and even on occasion Pettigrew, on broomstick often enough over the years.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Wormtail did not fly away with Black. He is here, in this cave…"

"Obviously, he didn't want you to know," Severus said, trying to make his voice sound weak rather than condescending. "Why else would he have Obliviated Bellatrix?"

"But why return? If he has truly betrayed me -"

"Because of what you said," Severus said, still trying to sound weak, beaten. "Black wouldn't have forgiven him, not even if Wormtail helped him escape. He would need to prove himself -"

"To spy?" Voldemort said, outraged.

Severus said nothing, just let his eyes fall half-closed in apparent exhaustion.

And it worked. Voldemort turned away, sweeping out of the cavern and out of sight.

Breathing freely again, Severus began to look around.

* * *

When Lily opened her eyes, she knew at once that her fainting spell had not lasted long. The Death Eaters still surrounded her, their positions unchanged except perhaps by an inch or two, their expressions still largely of disgust.

And the ring - the ring was still glowing. She was still pregnant. _Pregnant._

Lucius Malfoy bent over her, and she flinched as his wand curved and flicked through the air above her abdomen.

"Don't hurt it," she whispered, unable to stop herself from begging for the child, even if she hadn't begged for herself.

Malfoy's cold gray eyes met hers for the briefest instant, but she saw at once, with a pang of shock, that he had no intention of hurting the baby. The spells he was casting, she recognized after a moment, were diagnostic.

"Is Potter the father?" he asked, in a cold, sneering tone.

"Is - of course he is!" she snapped, not so beaten that she could not feel indignant. "How dare -"

"You were known to be a favorite of Snape's," Malfoy said, to sniggers from the others.

"Snape and I never - how _dare -_ "

"Stop pretending to be virtuous," the Lestrange who had tortured her said. "We can all see you're not." He lightly kicked her left hand, the way he might have kicked an animal out of the way.

Lily drew the ring close to herself, almost protectively, as if by shielding its fragile blue glow she could protect the little life inside her.

Oh, but what about all the people who were linked to her ring? Would they all show up as pregnant? What would this do to them? Had Hermione's spell accounted for this at all?

Would they know where she was, with the ring? All those tracking spells the Ministry had put in place…

Except it hadn't been the Ministry. It had been the Death Eaters.

Lily flinched as Malfoy stood up, and hated herself for it, because it was not out of fear of him but out of fear at losing his shelter. The clinical hostility in his eyes had been vastly preferable to the outright hunger in Lestrange's.

"How many Crucios you think it'll survive?" he asked. "Anyone care to bet?"

"Don't be absurd," Malfoy said, and Lily could clearly hear his distaste for the man beside him - his brother-in-law, wasn't he?

"Absurd?" Lestrange echoed, rather dangerously.

"The child is Potter's. A half-blood - magically powerful, or the ring would have prevented its conception. It would be foolish to kill it."

Lestrange was looking at Malfoy as if he'd grown a second head. But Malfoy, Lily could see, had reached a line he was not willing to cross.

"She's a Mudblood," Lestrange said.

"As I said," Malfoy said slowly, as if speaking to a half-wit, "the child will be half-blood."

"Half-blood scum," Lestrange said, turning his head and casually spitting on Lily, who cringed.

"But half-blood nonetheless. There are other half-bloods in service to the Dark Lord, are there not?" Malfoy turned his head as he said it, and Lily knew he was speaking directly to the half-bloods in the room, of whom there must have been two or three, judging by the answering glares.

Lestrange, who had looked ready to murder Malfoy a moment ago, suddenly laughed. "Little baby Potter's going to serve the Dark Lord, is he?" He cackled. "How d'you like that, Mudblood?"

Lily didn't answer. Malfoy was protecting her child, out of whatever twisted excuse for a moral center he had, and she wasn't about to compromise that by provoking any of the other Death Eaters. Especially not Lestrange.

There was a strange gasp, a gasp that might have been silent outside, but that in the confines of the cave echoed dramatically. The Death Eaters turned, and a sunken figure cowered against the wall at the entrance to the cavern, his watery eyes fixed on the blue glow Lily was cradling to her chest.

"Wormtail!" she snarled, half-sitting up, her resolve of a moment ago not to provoke anyone instantly forgotten. This was the vermin who had brought Death Eaters to her wedding. This was the traitor who had gotten dozens of her loved ones killed.

Wormtail tried to withdraw, but Lestrange, obviously sensing the tension between them, even if he had been in prison for its cause, called out, "Come in, Wormtail. Let me have a look at you. You've always been wearing the mask before."

Lily blinked, startled. Had the other Death Eaters not known who Wormtail was?

Evidently most of them had not. Lucius Malfoy didn't look remotely surprised to find Peter Pettigrew in their midst, but most of the others seemed to have no idea who he was, until one of them - a Slytherin a few years older than Lily, whose name she didn't know but whose face she instantly recognized - said, "Weren't you Potter's friend?"

"He was," Malfoy said, when Wormtail, still cowering against the wall and staring at Lily, didn't answer. "His beloved, trusted friend - weren't you, Peter?"

Peter flinched at the use of his first name, his gaze finally darting from Lily to the other Death Eaters. Feeling pity for him was so ingrained in Lily's nature that, even here, surrounded by the Death Eaters he had betrayed her for, she felt a sudden irrational sense of compassion for his obvious fear of them.

She banished it quickly, but it had at least served the purpose of cooling her fury. She swallowed back the urge to confront him, and lowered herself back to the stone floor, trying not to draw anyone's attention now that they were all looking at this new object - this new target.

For it was plain none of them regarded him with any respect. Whatever role he had played in their meetings until now, masked or otherwise, had obviously drawn their scorn and disgust. Malfoy turned away from him, as if he found his presence even more distasteful than Lily's. Lestrange, on the other hand, looked amused and eager.

"Why don't you come and play, Peter?" he said. "We caught a pretty little Mudblood. Guess you already know her."

Peter's gaze was flickering between Lestrange and Lily with a kind of guilty horror mingled with a look she didn't understand. Curiosity? Hope? Whatever it was, he shuffled forward from the wall, eyes still turning more to Lily than to Lestrange.

"Hello, Lily," he said quietly.

If Lestrange hadn't just spat on her, she would have spit on Peter in that moment. As it was, it took all of her strength to hold still. She wanted to attack him.

Her expression must have shown it, because Lestrange laughed again. "She doesn't like you very much, Peter."

Peter flushed, but Lily thought it was less from shame at what he'd done to her than from humiliation at the mocking tone Lestrange had used. It sent a chill through her: this was Peter, the Peter she had known for half her life. Had he always been like this? Had this always been inside him, waiting to emerge?

For a strange moment, she compared him to Severus: both outcasts, both unpopular, both poor, both far from handsome. Yet, though Peter had found friends to protect and love him, Severus had ultimately had nothing, no one. But when he was tempted to join the Death Eaters, he resisted. He had protected her. He had fought by her side. The difference between them - the strong, fierce, foolish boy she had rejected, and this cowardly cringing wretch she had befriended and trusted - was striking.

Merlin, but she'd been a fool. James, Sirius, poor Remus, even Dumbledore - all of them, really. Severus might have been a git in their fifth year, but they'd had a bloody psychopath sleeping in their dorms and joining their secret wartime meetings and none of them had noticed.

But _was_ Peter a psychopath? Had he not just been frightened into this, tortured and coerced?

She searched his face, as he was searching hers, and still she saw no shame, no remorse, just a cringing sort of resentful guilt, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong and was more upset about getting caught than doing wrong.

People had _died_ because of him, and it couldn't have been plainer he regarded it as an embarrassing inconvenience.

Her hatred for him was overwhelming. Would it destroy the baby, all this fear and hate? Its first moments of life were all horror, anger, despair, terror, contempt, loathing. Would it be evil, like this creature in front of her? Was Lestrange right? Had his Cruciatus Curse caused this conception? Would it hurt the child? Would it rot away in her womb?

But no, it was just a baby - a poor innocent baby - she wanted to shower it with love and happiness, safety and hope. Was she destroying it? Here, surrounded by evil and darkness, was there enough good left alive in her to keep the baby full of light?

 _My poor baby,_ she thought, and only narrowly resisted pressing her hands to her womb to cradle it. She didn't want the Death Eaters to see that - didn't want them mocking her, or hurting her, or hurting the baby.

It was obvious Peter was thinking about the baby, too, because his gaze kept flickering from her face to the ring to her womb and back again, as if trying to decide how to feel about it. It was creepy, almost creepier in its way than Lestrange's open leer.

"You're not going to hurt the baby?" Peter asked, suddenly glancing up at Lestrange and Malfoy.

Lestrange sneered, but Malfoy simply said, "No. The child will be a half-blood. It will serve some purpose."

"Is that so?"

The Death Eaters flinched as one, dropping to their knees and turning to face the entrance of the cave. Most of them were clumsy, still aching and weary from Azkaban and the duels they had escaped. Peter was uncomfortably close to Lily; she could see his untied shoelace, his dirty sock, his bare ankle.

And there, poking out of his pocket, his wand.

Her heart tripping over itself, her fingers shook, her head felt dizzy. It was so close - _so close._

"You say the Mudblood is pregnant?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy answered at once, in a hushed, slightly hoarse voice. "The child is Potter's -"

"And you decided it would serve a purpose, did you, Lucius?"

A shiver ran through the Death Eaters. Malfoy kept his head bowed, his dirty silver-gold hair brushing the floor. "The child will be a half-blood, my lord. What better revenge than to raise it to defeat the cause its parents fought for?"

Lily's attention was split. She wanted the wand, badly. But she was also terrified of making a move, agonizingly conscious that her life, and the life of her precious baby, depended wholly on whether Voldemort agreed with Malfoy or not.

After a long silence, Voldemort said, "The child may be useful."

Lily tried not to sigh in relief.

"But you should not have made such a determination yourself, Lucius."

"My lord, I sought only to preserve a potential asset. I defer to you in everything. If you wish me to kill the Mudblood and her child, I will do so." Malfoy sounded desperate and tired, his voice growing hoarser by the moment, roughened after his months in Azkaban.

"Your loyalty is noted," Voldemort said. "The loyalty of others here... is less certain."

Another shiver ran through the cavern, this one more pronounced, more fearful. Lily at first assumed he meant her, but his gaze was scanning the other Death Eaters, with their bent, dirty heads, their grimy fingers, they ragged robes.

Without warning, he raised his wand and said, " _Crucio!_ "

And Peter, barely a foot in front of her, let out a high-pitched shriek, toppled over onto his side, and jerked and twitched and rolled his way onto her.

Lightning-quick, her fingers darted into his pocket, gripped the wand, and slid it into her own robes, all before Peter's screaming stopped. He panted, sobbing, and she pushed him away from her.

"My lord," he gasped. "I am loyal - I am loyal! Have I not proven…?" He broke off in a choking, keening sob.

"You have proven nothing more than your capacity for treachery," Voldemort said, and Lily shuddered at the fury in his voice. "You are a worm."

"My lord, please… please! I am your loyal servant!"

"You have betrayed me, as you betrayed your friends. _Crucio!_ "

But Peter was too quick. He transformed to a roomful of gasps, though whether the Death Eaters were gasping at his Animagus abilities or at the sheer audacity of trying to use them to escape the Dark Lord's punishment, Lily wasn't sure. Certainly it was unwise; only seconds later, with a look of such violent rage that Lily curled into a little ball to protect herself from it, Voldemort lashed out with his wand, screaming again, " _Crucio!_ " and Peter's little rat form writhed back into a shrieking man.

"You _dare?_ " Voldemort hissed.

"Please, please, my lord! I have not betrayed you! I have been loyal! I have been -"

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Lily gulped back a little scream. The Death Eaters were all lit with a brilliant flash of green light, and she saw Voldemort squint his scarred eyes from the brightness of it. Then it was dark again, and Peter's slumped form lay motionless on the floor.

"Dispose of him!" Voldemort hissed, before sweeping out of the cavern.

The Death Eaters slowly raised their heads, glanced at each other in mingled alarm and relief, then hastened to obey.


End file.
